Skip to main content

Full text of "My garden in summer"

See other formats




(Tornell XDiniversit^ 


IRew l?orR State Colleae of agriculture 

Q.S^...M.U..: ?i..4:\JL.\±k).. 

Cornell University 

The original of tiiis book is in 
tine Cornell University Library. 

There are no known copyright restrictions in 
the United States on the use of the text. 




My Garden in Summer 











[In Preparation.) 

My Garden in Summer 

By E. A. Bowles, m.a. 

London : T. C. & E. C. Jack 

67 Long Acre, W.C. 

And Edinburgh 



I. The Merging of Spring and Summer . . . i 

II. The Iris Beds 14 

III. Beardless Irises of Summer 30 

IV. Roses 46 

V. Single Roses 62 

VI. Geraniums 92 

VII. A June Stroll 116 

VIII. A June Afternoon 134 

IX. Aquatics 157 

X. Succulents 180 

XI. How July Begins 202 

XII. Grasses 219 

XIII. Daisies 237 

XIV. Bedding Out 252 

XV. Flowers for Cutting 263 

XVI. As July Ends 273 

XVII. August 292 

Index 303 


Wistaria multijuga as a standard Frontispiece 


Rosa xanthina 66 

Meconopsis heterophylla 130 

Adenocarpus anagyrus 144 

The Vine Pergola and Viburnum tomentosum var. plicatum . . 148 

Dianthus arvergnensis and microlepis 156 

Campanula Allionii in Moraine 158 

Yucca recurvifolia and Spiraea camtschatica 176 

Gunnera chilensis 180 

Cereus paucispinus 188 

Agave Parryi 190 

Succulent plants on the Pond steps 194 

Bed of Succulents on the Terrace ... 196 

Sempervivums on Terrace wall . .... 198 

Romneya trichocalyx . 206 

Campanula lactiflora 208 

Aira caespitosa 224 

Spiraea arborea 268 

Eryngium serra by the Cactus bank 274 

Potentilla davurica and Phormium tenax 280 

Linum arboreum 282 

Ligustrum ovalifolium multiflorum 284 

Convolvulus mauritanicus . . 286 

Genista aethnensis ... 296 

My Garden in Summer 

Spring is ever present in any garden, where tender 
young growth • and promise of flower are continually 
springing from the ground. Certain scents and sounds 
mean Summer to me; taken singly, like specific char- 
acters, they are insufficient, but in combination they spell 
a certain season. The snoring drawl of a contented 
greenfinch and the mowing machine whirring over the 
lawns, turning them into parallel-striped carpets of two 
shades of green, the scent of the bruised and cut grass 
drying in the sun, initiate the summer feeling, and con- 
stitute the prelude ; but the monotoned double croon of 
a turtle-dove, with its well-trilled R's, and the high-pitched 
rattle of the hay-cutter in the meadows, followed by the 
aroma of new-mown hay, with a whiff of the clean 
fragrance of a Dog Rose, build up the real article, and 
guarantee the presence of Summer as surely as the facts 
that you can cast clouts without missing them, and go 
out after dinner without further clothing than that meal 

There is so gradual a transition from Spring to 
Summer that one only notices the invasion of the warmer 
season here and there at first ; it is as though these sister- 
queens agreed to rule together for a spell, and their 
courtiers and servants mingled freely ; a Rose or a Lily 
appears among the tall, over-blown Tulips, which daily 
lay down some of their vernal banners as they drop 
their petals. A little later we must look in quiet, shady 
corners for the courtiers of Queen Spring, whilst 
everywhere may be seen those of Summer in rose- 
laden bushes and tropical flowers, returned with the 


Merging of Spring and Summer 

reign of the new monarch from their exile to the green- 
houses. It generally happens that the feeling that Spring 
has lost the upper hand comes over me when I get 
back to my garden after an arduous day's work on the 
first day of what was once the Temple, and is now, 
the Chelsea Show. The masses of Roses and Rhodo- 
dendrons and Azaleas seen there under canvas are not 
somehow convincing arguments of Summer's rule, at least 
not sufficiently strong to overcome the display made by 
the banks of well-preserved Tulips that in most seasons 
come from the fields of two or three great growers. 
Even the presence of Sweet Peas and Chrysanthemums, 
Dahlias and forced fruit, produces no sensation of Summer, 
for they all have an untimely, forced appearance. But, 
on my return, a stroll in my own garden before it is time 
to dress for dinner, shows that the Tulips that looked 
respectable yesterday, are now shabby and faded, and 
disappointing at close quarters, and I go to look for bloom 
on summer-flowering plants that I have been reminded of 
by the forced specimens at the show. There is so much 
to be done, and to be looked at, in the garden at this time 
of the year that I often miss the show of buds appearing 
upon some treasure until reminded by flowers in an 
exhibit that I have not called upon mine this season, and 
I enjoy the visit of inquiry, especially if it is rewarded by 
a promise of abundance. It does one good to lift the 
leaves of Paeonia lutea and find clusters of plump buds 
hidden beneath them, or to discover a goodly number of 
flowering shoots just starting out sideways from the rosettes 
of Gentiana Kurroo, and so to be assured that both the 


My Garden in Summer 

beginning and end of Summer will give their widely 
different charms. 

The garden gave me a curious effect of the over- 
lapping of Spring and Summer this season in an unusually 
early offering of Sweet Peas, from plants raised in pots 
and planted out betimes, while I was still able to gather 
a good bunch of Daffodils, and for over a fortnight I 
had these unusual companions side by side on a flower 
table. Of course the first Sweet Peas are generally the 
best ; on the other hand thesie last Daffodils were the 
worst of the season, but were of great interest to me, for 
they represented an experiment I had undertaken to find 
out what is the best way to treat bulbs from New Zea- 
land, and how soon they can be acclimatised to our 
seasons and fit for the show table. 

I received some gloriously heavy, fat bulbs in January, 
that had been sent off from New Zealand as soon as 
lifting was possible, and I tried them in three ways, 
potted and stood in ashes, planted in a warm southern 
border, and in a cool one facing north in a moisture- 
retaining compost. The southern border showed the 
first leaves, but not until the middle of May, and then 
the poor Daffodils raced ahead, springing up as rapidly 
as mushrooms, and produced thin-textured miseries of 
flowers by the end of the month. With their short 
stalks and poor, starry segments they were caricatures 
of the beautiful things their labels proclaimed them ; 
King Alfred was more like the herdsman's wife or one 
of the burnt cakes than his Majesty the Great. Any 
wild Pseudo-narcissus from the fields would have beaten 


Merging of Spring and Summer 

such a flower on the show table. The potted bulbs, even 
though stood under a north wall, as soon as the leaves 
began to lengthen, plainly showed they had been forced 
against their will, and so the most successful were those 
in the cool northern border, which flowered until the 
middle of June, and were less like caricature Daffodils 
than those that flowered earlier. Judging from these 
results I should not advise the importation of New 
Zealand Narcissi for the purpose of providing bloom 
in June, but from the leaves they made and re- 
tained till late Autumn, and a bulb I unearthed as a 
sample in the shaded bed, I have good hopes of acclima- 
tising them by cool treatment during their two first years, 
and getting fine flowers from them in the third. I have 
also here a very late form of N. poeticus that I grubbed 
out of the hay meadows above Lanslebourg in the Haute 
Maurienne three years ago. There it flowers naturally 
in mid-June, and this year I left it still in flower here in 
the second week of that month when I started off to 
revisit its birthplace. It is a meanly-formed, skimpy 
flower and of a dull, unclean white, sometimes inclining 
to a distinct yellow tone, interesting but not beautiful, 
but if it will retain its June-flowering habit I shall con- 
tinue to value it, and perhaps, some day, mated with a 
freshly-arrived New Zealander, it may produce a summer- 
flowering race. 

When Spring is merging into Summer in the last 
days of May, I like to watch the daily progress of Wistaria 
muUijuga, which increases almost hourly in beauty, until 
the full display of the lavender cascade of flowers is 


My Garden in Summer 

reached in June. Many of the flower-clusters are by 
then a yard, or even more, in length, and the older flowers 
at the upper end do not fall until the last few buds are 
opening at the tips of the bunches, so that the effect is as 
striking as that produced by any flowering shrub that can 
be grown in the open air. I have often heard complaints 
that the muliijuga forms are rather shy flowerers, and I 
think that is true of plants that are trained on walls or 
on anything that encourages the slender shoots to wander 
on and still find support, and that it is necessary to induce 
woody growths to stand away free from any support 
before a really profuse flowering can be expected. This 
habit fits them for use as standards, and I know of 
few things better for sheltered positions on lawns. My 
oldest specimen was turned out of its pot into its present 
position some dozen of years ago, and it soon threw out 
wild arms seeking for something to twine around beyond 
its central stake. The aspirations of these tentacles were 
cut short ; they thickened into self-supporting branches 
about a yard in length, and after three seasons of this treat- 
ment commenced to bear flowers, and every year up to 
and including 1912 the flower display increased in wealth. 
Then it was so lavish that the foliage that followed was 
thinner than usual, and I half expected this season's 
flowering would be poor, but was sadly disappointed 
when I found no more than three flowering buds which 
dried up and fell off at an early stage of develop- 
ment. I hope and' trust its absolute barrenness is of the 
nature of a rest cure, and that next season it will be 
strong and well again, and appear at Queen Summer's 



state Ball clad in a court train of greater length than 

When buying W. muUijuga it is wise to see plants in 
flower, and choose those that please your taste in colour 
and form ; for it is raised very easily from seed, even in 
the warmer parts of this country, and seedlings vary 
enormously. Further, we can hardly expect the altruism 
of the Japanese gardener to so thoroughly overpower his 
commercial instincts that he should export his largest and 
longest flowered and best coloured varieties at the same 
price as the ordinary seedlings ; so it is he who keeps 
a wary, wide-open eye in the show tent and nursery 
that will be best pleased with Wistaria muUijuga in his 

This is especially true of the white variety, which in 
its best form is one of the loveliest things that can excite 
an optic nerve. When the flowers of the racemes are 
open on rather more than half their length, that upper 
portion is snowy white, and the rest is a wonderfully 
shaded series of tints of the softest emerald green, of 
course deepest at the tapered tip, as though the paint 
had been allowed to run down. 

I unfortunately bought the white one I wished to 
grow into a standard in unenlightened days, and I do not 
believe it will ever be a very startling object, for its 
racemes are short, and the unopened buds more nearly 
resemble aquamarines, or broken soda-water bottles, than 
the emeralds I had hoped for. The poor plant stands 
higher up the gravelly bank than the lilac form, and is 
often thirsty about flowering time, and flings the baby 


My Garden in Summer 

buds off the central rachis as crabs are said to do with 
their legs and claws unless packed too closely for kicking 
in the boiling pot. 

A little disappointment such as this provides a text for 
a Jeremiad on the uncertainty of success in gardening, the 
a-gley-ganging tendency of your best-laid plans that comes 
so aft that, though it may enhance your rare triumphs, 
still lets you feel that you are gambling against all the 
forces of Nature with those of Chance thrown in. 

I can see a fine allegorical picture in the subject. The 
keen, eager young gardener sits in the limelight beam 
that comes Rembrandt-wise from a hole in the roof ; at his 
feet lie trowels and forks, baskets of soil, patent manures, 
and insecticides ; Nicholson's Dictionary of Gardening lies 
open on his knee and shows marginal pencil notes and 
signs of frequent use ; his chin rests on his left hand and 
his clear, frank eyes under slightly raised, puzzled eye- 
brows gaze anxiously at the faces of his opponents on the 
other side of the table, trying to read their intentions by 
their expressions. These figures are in half shadow, and 
grouped in friendly union to outwit the gardener : a ray of 
light falls on one side of the face of the Clerk of the 
Weather, and he looks benevolent enough as seen by his 
opponent, but the shadowy side of his face has a half- 
closed eye and a finger to his nose as he winks and signals 
to John Frost, Esq., who has laid his arm around the 
neck of the other, and though pretending not to be 
interested in the game is evidently, by a gentle hug, 
encouraging the bluff of his accomplice. Other figures 
are ranged behind, all with linked arms to denote their 



co-operation in the conspiracy. One recognises the per- 
sonification of the Nurseryman's list by the trimming of 
laudatory adjectives bordering his garments: heavenly- 
blue, salmon-rose, very free flowering, and hardy-with-me 
are some that occur frequently. The Law of Averages is 
a stern-visaged ancient, clad in a grey surtout bearing a 
pattern of columns of figures and mathematical symbols, 
and so on and so on ; you can fill in the rest of the crowd, 
I expect. When this picture is painted, if it is given two 
stars in Baedeker and placed in Dresden or Amsterdam, 
crowds will take Cook's tickets to go and see it, but put 
it in our own National Gallery and they will still take the 
foreign tickets to see something else. But just so do we 
gamble with the soils and seasons and move our pawns or 
plant our Wistarias with a deal of thought, and some 
unforeseen move by an unknown Japanese or some undis- 
covered poverty of the lower soil cries check, the longed- 
for effect does not come off, and we are led to growling 
and sermonising in this sardonic strain. Take warning 
then, good reader, and choose your plant in bloom, and 
dig a deep enough hole to be sure the subsoil is good, 
then I hope you will escape the wait of several seasons 
ending in the discovery that your specimen is an in- 
ferior variety. Many people howled aloud when at last 
they flowered the much-belauded W. multijuga rosea, for 
they had not properly worked out the rule of three sum 
presented in the catalogues. Surely they should have 
known that as a tender, delicate rose is to three and 
sixpence, so would be their imagination of W. multijuga 
rosea to the slightly pink-tinted flowers of the pallid 


My Garden in Summer 

reality. If you allow a long bunch of its still unopened 
buds to trail on your white shirt cuff you will see it really 
is not white but quite sufficiently tinted with pinkish 
lavender to warrant the varietal name of rosea in a nursery 
list without the addition of superba or magnifica and the 
consequent charge of seven and sixpence. I am pleased 
with mine, however, for it grew from its own pergola post 
until it mixed with a Clematis montand rubens on the 
next one, and as the two plants flower together and the 
drooping racemes of the Wistaria are very long and freely 
produced, the soft pink of the Clematis backed by the 
pearly-rose shade of the Wistaria makes a delightful 

A second plant of this variety I intended should 
clamber up an old Scots Pine was planted at its foot, and 
long after the one in the pergola was providing us annu- 
ally with a barrow full of trimmings, number two had not 
climbed a yard of its tree, and looked as sulky as a rolled- 
up hedgehog. So we moved it to form a third specimen 
standard muUijuga on the lawn. In its first season there 
it flung out as many long feelers as an Anthea Sea-anemone, 
and the following June it flowered, and still further con- 
vinced me that muUijuga forms are best as standards, 
unless one has room for an overhead trellis on which to 
train them as the Japanese do. I have also planted W. 
chinensis, both lilac and white, as standards in this group 
on the lawn, but they are much slower in growing into 
effective specimens, and are not more than a quarter of the 
size of the muUijuga trees, but are beginning to make a 



good annual show at flowering time. Perhaps it is the 
method of propagation practised with W. chinensis that 
makes it so slow to start. I was shown the process in one 
of the great nurseries of Holland ; root cuttings are struck 
in heat in a large house — thousands of them — and then the 
long, slender growths from old plants are grafted on to 
these newly-rooted babes, and by the next season a fairly 
tall hobbledehoy Wistaria can be sent out into the world 
before it has learnt manners or thought of flowering, but 
many are plunged out in pots and twiddled round stakes 
till they come to budding age, but by then their roots 
must surely be sadly crarnped and twisted. One thing is 
necessary to guard against in a young specimen, that is 
allowing two growths to twine round each other, for this 
will end in one or both being more or less strangled, and 
a checked flow of sap that may result in cast flower-buds 
in dry seasons. Two other forms are being started as 
standards here, but away from this older group and nearer 
to the River. They came from Japan direct, and are the 
sole survivors of a case of many plants. No one packs 
more beautifully than the Japanese ; their very knots and 
string and nails fill me with admiration ; but the last few 
consignments I have received have had to contend with 
ill-luck or bad judgment — one arrived soddened and more 
closely resembling ensilage than living plants ; the next 
was baked dry enough for a herbarium, probably having 
had a seat next to an engine-room. In this last travelled 
my Wistarias, and they had made some yards of growth, 
the colour of boiled sea-kale, not much thicker than a 


My Garden in Summer 

wasp's waist, and fragile as cheese-straws. What little of 
this tangle remained attached to the woody stems soon 
wilted in the light and air, and I thought bang had gone 
those sixpences laid out on them. But the plucky old 
stumps shot out new buds from most unexpected places, 
and by midsummer both of them were leafy enough to be 
planted out. 

One of them, named fragrans, appears to be a good 
white form of multijuga, but not very long in the raceme 
so far. The other is ranked as a species, W. brachybotrys, 
and my plant is the white form of it. After two seasons 
of barrenness it produced a marvellous crop of flower buds, 
and promised to be a glorious spectacle, but did not live 
up to it, for the racemes, as its name implies, are short, 
not longer than six inches in fact, and the plant rushed 
into leaf just as the flowers opened and smothered up the 
display of snowy bloom with the yellow-green foliage ; 
but it is said to behave otherwise in Japan, being there 
the first species of the season to flower, and its tufts of 
blossoms completely cover the closely-pruned branches 
before any trace of a leaf appears. So it may be that 
with age, and pruning into close spurs, I may yet see its 
show without lifting the leaves to find it. W. multijuga in 
Japanese pictures seems to flower in a more leafless state 
than it does in English gardens ; but the trees most gene- 
rally depicted are either some centuries old or else spurred, 
dwarfed specimens, but in multijuga the presence of leaves 
does not matter, for owing to the length of the racemes, 
and especially where grown as a standard or on an over- 
head trellis, the pendant fringe of blossom is none the 



worse for a dome of golden-bronze coloured leaves. The 
Japanese call the Wistaria Fuji Niki-so, the plant of two 
seasons, as its flowering period connects Spring and 
Summer there as here, where the lilac-coloured W. 
chinensis often produces its first-fruit of floral offerings 
in early May if it is grown against a warm wall, especially 
if in some angle facing south and next to the kitchen 
chimney, while as a standard in the open it may lag 
behind in the procession, like the Sunday-school child 
whose bootlace will come untied, until June and W. 
multijuga are in full swing. 



The Iris Beds 

As Wistaria brachybotrys has brought us to the River bank 
let us walk along it and examine its flanking Iris beds under 
the ancient Yews, and this time make the journey in the 
opposite direction to that we took in the Spring volume, 
so that we may stop short before we reach the final bed, 
then a thick mass of /. florentina bloom, now of blue-grey 
leaves only relieved by a few Martagon Lilies. What strikes 
one as the greatest change since the last visit is the varied 
range of colouring now in the beds. Then the show 
consisted of the cool lavender grey of florentina and the 
deep blue purples of germanica forms, while the inter- 
mediate Iris Golden Fleece, and a few belated flowers of 
Leander and other dwarf Irises provided all there was of 
yellow. Now in some beds, where we have grouped 
yellow varieties together, there is a rich golden effect, and 
the mauves, lilacs, and pinks of forms of /. pallida con- 
trast with white and purple amoenas, and the thunder- 
storm bronzes and lurid buffs of squalens varieties in 
other beds, to form the rainbow effect one expects in an 
Iris garden. 

They are not grouped so systematically and brainily as 
I could wish, the result of playful habits of young her- 


The Iris Beds 

ring gulls who have for many years lived in this part of 
the garden, and alas, when old enough to give up silly 
habits of playing with every label, wooden or zinc 
(though the former are their better-loved toys, as they 
float when placed in the River), some sad fate has over- 
taken the veterans, and a younger generation has come to 
play the dickens with the labels, — and I love their cry so 
much that I forgive the label-removing nuisance. The 
needful work of sorting and regrouping has never yet 
been achieved, and the Irises exist in repeated small clumps 
instead of the broad masses my mind desires, but ray 
muscles shrink from the labour of planting. 

Here at the corner facing the Lunatic Asylum beds and 
the large Ivy-covered Yew, the mixture is mostly composed 
of yellows, bronzes, and whites. Of the former Gracchus 
is one of the best, and so free in growth and flowering 
that it needs no care ; the daffodil-yellow standards are 
as bright a yellow as any Iris could produce, while the 
falls are netted with crimson and white and so proclaim 
it a form of /. variegata, but in size and colouring it quite 
eclipses its parent, who has to live a little further along 
round the bend to avoid being put to shame by her hand- 
some child. The best orange-yellow one is known as 
aurea, a regrettable name, as it leads to confusion with 
the tall, beardless splendour from Kashmir that bears that 
name specifically and by right. This false fellow, how- 
ever, whether we call it germanica aurea with many lists, 
or variegata aurea, which is the nearest to correct nomen- 
clature we can achieve, is very handsome and the tallest 
of these yellow, bearded flags. Maori King, a good dwarf 


My Garden in Summer 

form of variegata very rich in velvet-crimson falls with 
gold braided edges and pure yellow standards, lacks the 
vigour of the others and wants more looking after than 
it gets here, and Mrs. Neubronner is quite as shy and 
retiring ; so they make but little show, and three or four 
older, but less brilliant forms, whose names have floated 
down the River, are elbowing them out. Innocenza is a 
charming dwarf white, thought to be a form of variegata, 
but of mysterious origin. It is a warm-looking flower in 
spite of its whiteness, as the claw of the falls is stained 
orange and a touch of red netting on either side of the 
rich orange beard enlivens the colouring. I have a very 
warm spot in my heart for it, as it is so neat in growth, 
accords charmingly with yellow and bronze varieties when 
growing, and is equally delightful as a cut flower either 
in a vase all to itself or with yellow sisters for companions. 
Another good white is the amoena variety, Mrs. H. Darwin, 
but from its purple and violet-marked relations it inherits 
a cold scheme of colouring, in spite of red-purple nettings 
on the base of the falls, and I prefer it, both growing and 
cut, when among purple and lilac forms, so we shall find 
large clumps of it further along among the pallidas and 
pUcatas, for it is one of the freest of all to flower, and has 
such stiff, strong stems it always makes a good solid mass 
of white, and therefore is well worth planting in repeated 
clumps among darker forms. 

De Bergh and La Prestigieuse with several now name- 
less forms represent the bronze varieties of this corner, 
but I am promising myself a newer set when next they are 
replanted if a spare hole or two can be found. Jacquiniana 


The Iris Beds 

is one of the best we have for deep sombre colouring, but it 
has a most pernicious habit here of growing outrageously 
fast, Hke Alice in Bill the Lizard's house, if a good soaking 
of rain reaches it when the flower scape is young ; then 
it outgrows its strength, splits its stem, or at best curls it 
in uncouth curves, and sprawls all over its neighbours. 
So it has been banished to the I. florentina bed, and there 
coming into flower after the rest of the plants have 
finished it can have the stage to itself. Now we must 
proceed round the inner curve by the River's bend, and 
in the next bed I want you to admire a fine piece of Ivy 
timber. It smothered a Yew many years before I can 
remember it, and of late years has been a source of 
much anxiety in every gale, leaning further over after each, 
and giving awful warnings of what it meant to do by 
the cracks and raised furrows its strained roots produced 
in the ground close to the stem. We wired it up to the 
living Yews from time to time as it was a handsome 
mass of Ivy, but this Spring we hardened our hearts, 
and digging round it, and loosening as many roots as we 
could find, released its wire supports, and let it gently 
down into the place we wished for it, at the back of the 
border between two of the Yews, instead of waiting for 
it to crash down and smash itself and its lesser neighbours. 
The operation cracked more of the Ivy's roots than was 
desirable, and in spite of a mound of good soil placed on 
those we had to lift out of the ground the poor old thing 
was hungry and thirsty when it came to the time to be 
thinking of new leaves. The old ones hung down with 
a very dejected expression for about a week in April, and 

17 B 

My Garden in Summer 

in spite of frequent syringings they all fell off one gusty 
night, and our invalid looked wretched. The fall of those 
leaves cheered me, though, for I felt sure had the tree 
meant to die they would have withered and died hanging 
on to the twigs.' So we syringed on steadily, and now 
here you see a convalescent, rather sparsely furnished 
with leaves, but a handsome great tree of Ivy for all that. 
It is a capital wind-screen and background for the Regelio- 
cyclus Irises whose praises I have already sung, and some 
weird Aroids that I hope will thrive even though over- 
hung by the Ivy, as they will be so well baked and scorched 
by the southern sunshine that will reach them there. 
This bed contains more shrubs than most of these Iris 
beds, so the space for Irises is not so great, and the narrow 
band is composed mostly of amoena varieties, that is to say 
those with white or pale lilac standards and wholly purple 
or purple-veined falls. Several of these live in incog- 
nito, thanks to the gulls, but some can be recognised at 
flowering time as Donna Maria, Duchesse de Nemours, 
and other lofty folk. Victorine is easily named as it has 
the deepest purple falls of any and white standards to 
contrast with them, but the effect is somewhat marred by 
a splashing of the deep purple on the inner surface of the 
standards, so that Thorbeck, although it is not quite so 
deep in the purple, is a better thing on account of the 
spotless purity of its standards. 

We have now reached a point where we can look 
down a straight path which is planted on both sides 
with Rhododendrons for most of its length and then 
passes Tom Tiddler's ground, now very bright with its 


The Iris Beds 

gold and silver groupings, and ends where it leads on to 
the old bowling-green lawn. The end of this walk near 
the River has been lately replanted, for. it was a tangle of 
elderly and scraggy R. ponticum, no doubt the result of 
shoots from below the graft that had escaped detection 
when young and had lived to strangle and starve out the 
scions. So there was an opportunity to plant a few of 
my favourite varieties, such as Sappho with its white 
flowers and large purple spots like imitation Bumble-bees, 
and R. fastuosum fl. pi., which is the nearest approach 
to a lavender shade reached by any of the ponticum 
type, and a very beautiful variety when well grown, as it 
flowers rather later than most kinds, lasts long in beauty 
owing to its double flowers, and is a strong grower. This 
path makes a pretty picture on a fine June day, and is 
framed by two of the straightest and most picturesque 
of the old Yew trunks, one standing on either side of 
the path and at the back of the Iris beds. A Honey- 
suckle puzzles people at first sight, for it stands up 
with a clear stem of dove-coloured satiny bark, and 
then forms a narrow pillar of growth for some fifteen 
feet, and appears to stand up stiffly without any support 
or touching the Yew overhead. The fact is it used 
to scramble over a spindly, starved Yew that grew in 
front of the one with the grand stem and hid its 
beauty, and was being driven out and kept scraggy by 
the larger tree. So we cut it down, disentangled the 
Honeysuckle, and, loth to lose it, fastened a wire to 
its stem and hauled it up towards the Yew, and very 
pretty its yellow trumpets look hanging in mid air 


My Garden in Summer 

backed by the dark Yew leaves and the rich red stem. 
The bed now on our left is the largest of those devoted 
to the Bearded Irises, and contains the pallida varieties 
in large groups among other kinds of Iris, and also a 
central group of Crinums, some sunken half tubs for 
Japanese Irises, a large square planting of Iris unguicularis 
that, flowering later than those under the walls, is very 
useful to pick from in February and March. Here, too, 
grow some clumps of Scilla peruviana, that generally 
manage to give a good show of blossom at the end of 
May and in the beginning of June, both the blue and 
white forms, and while the large pyramidal heads have 
a tight cone of buds in the centre, and not more than 
three rows of flowers expanded, they are very handsome ; 
afterwards the many overblown outside flowers make them 
look shabby. They no more came from Peru than the 
pretended Charley's Aunt did from Brazil, and they are 
plentiful as wild plants in Spain. It has been said that 
a ship named The Peru carried some bulbs of the plant, 
and from it they got their name, but I have not been 
able to hunt down this tale. Clusius seems to be chiefly 
responsible for the error as to its native country, for he 
records that it was brought from Peru and grown and 
flowered by Everard Munichoven, who made a drawing 
of it, a copy of which was sent to Clusius in 1592, and 
Linnaeus appears to have been misled by this statement, 
and to have saddled it for ever with its lying specific 
name. But Parkinson knew it came from Spain, and tells 
how one Guillaume Boel sent him bulbs from Spain in 
1607 " after that most violent frosty winter which perished 


]\hofliHleiuli'on fasUiosinn ri. ji' 
i'Sec p. 19.) 

The Iris Beds 

both the roots of this and many other fine plants with us " ; 
and, writing of the names, he tells us : " This hath been 
formerly named Eriophorus Peruanus and Hyacinthus 
Stellatus Peruvanus, being thought to have grown in Peru, 
a Province of the West Indies : but he that gave that name 
first unto it, eyther knew not his naturall place, or willingly 
imposed that name to conceal it or to make it the better 
esteemed, but I had rather give the name agreeing most 
fitly unto it, and call it, as it is indeede, Hyacinthus Stel- 
latus Boeticus, the Spanish Starry lacinth." Well done, 
old Parkinson 1 You have given Clusius and his friends 
a nice rap over the knuckles. 

These and a few other plants needing warm quarters, 
lest another "most violent frosty winter" should carry them 
off too, inhabit the front of this border ; but the main plant- 
ing is of Iris, I, pallida dalmatica is the most glorious of 
them ; in fact, I rather think it is the most glorious of all 
Irises when it does well. It has grown here for a long time, 
and was one of the very few really good plants I found a 
large stock of in the garden when I began to sit up and take 
notice of garden affairs. It has the widest blue leaf of all 
my Flags, and is wonderfully distinct and effective even when 
out of bloom ; but how can I fitly describe its blossoms ? 
It is too well known to need describing, except inasmuch 
as I must try to make good my assertion as to its exceed- 
ing glory. It is one of the largest and tallest of Flag 
Irises : its near relative, pallida Albert Victor, is a trifle 
larger, but is of a deeper, less satisfying shade of lilac. 
Dalmatica's shade is a mingling of Rose-madder and 
Ultramarine blue, as I have learnt from painting it ; and 


My Garden in Summer 

one must keep on squeezing one's tube of Rose-madder 
at a ruinous rate to give the warmth of the shades in 
hollows and on the sides of the falls. It is that soft rosy 
lilac to be found in certain Crocuses, notably C. longiflorus 
in Autumn and C. Imperati in Spring, and in the paler 
forms of Iris unguicularis ; but much purer and cooler 
than the rosy-mauve I associate with Cattleyas and their 
nasty heavy balsamic scent and vulgarly rich, purple 
and gold blotchings. I can admire and enjoy most 
flowers, but just a few I positively dislike. Collerette 
Dahlias and those superlatively double African Marigolds 
that look like india-rubber bath sponges offend me most 
of all. I dislike the cheap thin texture of Godetias almost 
as much as I do the sinful magenta streaks and splotches 
that run in the blood of that family. I loathe Celosias 
equally with dyed Pampas grass ; and Coxcombs, and 
spotty, marbled, double Balsams I should like to smash 
up with a coal-hammer ; and certain great flaunting 
mauve and purple Cattleyas cloy my nose and annoy my 
eye till I conjure up a vision of them expiating their 
gaudy double-dyed wickedness with heads impaled on 
stiff wires like those of criminals on pikes, in a sea of 
Asparagus Sprengeri, and forming the bouquet presented 
to the wife of a provincial Mayor on the occasion of his 
opening the new sewage works. There ! I feel ever so 
much better for that denunciation. I wish the subjects 
thereof could all turn white with fear of the public exhibi- 
tion of their decapitated heads, for I can love an albino 

Now scurry we back to Iris pallida dalmatica's charms, 


The Iris Beds 

another of which is the way the ample standards open 
out and show the remarkably wide style branches, as if 
the flower knew how beautiful they are. I think pellucid 
must be the right adjective for them, only one must free 
one's mind of visions of the pale, pellucid periwinkle soup 
of the Nonsense Book and think of an opal without any 
fire. They are a pale bluish-lilac, as pale as a basin of 
starch, and just transparent enough to show a trace of the 
orange lower portion of the beard. Aha ! now I've got 
it — they are like a delicious plover's egg just shelled and 
ready to eat ; and that idea recalls to my mind a glorious 
evening effect I saw from the great Mont Cenis Road, 
looking down from just above the dip that leads to the 
lake, when the snow on the Cottians was glowing with 
golden sunshine, but veiled from us by a thin blue mist 
that hung over the Susa valley. The artistic one of the 
party likened it to an amber gown with a blue chiffon 
scarf over it. My practical, material mind saw it as a 
plover's egg ; and after that long day up on the snow 
slopes among Geum reptans and Campanula cenisia how I 
should have liked to eat it ! 

A wholly orange-coloured beard would be too gaudy 
for this perfect Iris, and the lower portion is white, and 
the orange half lies in the hollow entrance under the 
crests of the stiles, to guide the hungry bee into the 
honey, so that his furry back may push pollen into the 
cunningly planned flap that is the stigma. It must take 
a large and strong Bumble-bee to manage it effectively, 
and I hope those metallic blue-winged, purple-velvet- 
bodied kinds one sees in Italy and warmer countries visit 


My Garden in Summer 

this Iris, as they must look so fine against the soft colour 
of its flowers. The typical 7. pallida is a fine, sturdy 
growing thing, but its smaller blue flowers must take a 
lower place when dalmatica comes out. A variety called 
Coeleste is worth having, as it possesses a neater and 
dwarfer habit than any variety of ■pallida, and has very 
pale lilac flowers that contrast well with the deeper forms. 
Queen of May is rather a stiff, upright-stemmed lady, proud 
of her title, perhaps, in spite of its inappropriateness, for 
she never appears before June, but the rosy-pink of her 
flowers is so good, with their orange-coloured beards, 
that she ought to be allowed to queen it in every Iris 
collection. Also where /. pallida is happy room should 
be found for the variety with variegated leaves, one of 
the most effective of variegated plants, but rather im- 
patient of wet feet and chills. The amount of soft primrose 
and cream colour in well-developed leaves is surprising 
and charming, with the sea-green and grey elsewhere on 
its leaves, and as a contrast to the glaucous foliage of 
other pallida varieties. The Iris walk is hard to tear 
oneself away from when the pallida varieties are in festal 
array in June, whether viewed close at hand to peep 
into each flower, or taken as a whole from the opposite 
bank of the River, especially when reflected in it on a 
still day. I am very glad that I removed the ancient 
Laurels and Snowberries that once filled the beds almost 
to the edge of the grass walk on the River bank, and 
gave over the space to Irises. I cannot leave my 
favourite pallida Irises without mention of their chief 
botanical character, an unfailing guide to their identity, 


The Iris Beds 

that is the curious way in which the spathes that wrap 
their youthful flower-buds dry up and become papery 
and withered. Scariose is the botanical term for it, 
said to be derived from scaria, which was some thorny, 
leafless plant, and does not seem very sensible ; it would 
be much better if one could only connect it with the 
scare one gets the first time one sees the precious buds 
of one's Iris pallida apparently drying up and withering. 
Among these lilac glories I grow a tall dark violet form 
that I have always called Leonidas, and I think may be 
a hybrid of pallida. It seems to have disappeared of late 
years from catalogues, at least under that name. It 
makes a good contrast in colour with the pallidas, as the 
falls are a fine deep violet-purple, and its stems are tall 
enough to hold their own among that race of giants. 
The best of all dark forms, Black Prince, said to be a 
form of /. neglecta, unfortunately resembles its pro- 
tonym here in more than his dusky panoply and has 
always died young, so my Leonidas has stepped into his 

Somewhat similar in form to Leonidas, but of a reddish 
purple, is another form that I bought many years ago as 
Iris plicata, and never having found another name for it 
I keep it so labelled when the gulls permit me to, though 
it seems that name belongs to a group of garden hybrids 
among which should stand Mme. Chereau and Bacchus, 
and certain others with white flowers veined with lilac 
round their edges and very distinct and useful as a contrast 
among self-coloured forms; so here they are in good 
square clumps, in the next bed on the further side of the 


My Garden in Summer 

path that starts from the River walk and goes through 
the Pergola and Rose garden to the bowling-green lawn, 
running parallel with the Rhododendron walk. The 
Intermediate Irises raised by Mr. Caparne fill much space 
in this bed, and are by now going or gone out of flower, 
and their place is taken by I. flavescens, an especial 
favourite of mine. Its soft sulphur flowers are so clean 
and fresh in appearance and very freely produced, and 
make a fine show in a bold mass. I have one group at 
the corner of this bed, and another forms a broad line at 
the back of one of the beds. The falls are a little lighter in 
shade than the standards and faintly veined near the claw 
with brownish nettings, otherwise it is a nearly self 
primrose-yellow variety. It is not known as a wild 
plant, and it is so shy at setting seed that it seems 
likely it is a hybrid from /. variegata, and I should 
think possibly variegata aurea crossed with florentina or 
pallida might give us something similar. In the big 
herbaceous bed here it has sported to a greyish white 
form, and I have grown the sportive portion on into 
a good clump, and like it very much, as it distinctly 
recalls a vision of florentina, long after that variety's 
normal flowering season has passed. /. albicans grows 
here by the River close to /. flavescens, and after hot 
summers flowers pretty freely, but it is a plant of the 
South and is seen at its best in Greece and Italy, where it 
is widely cultivated. The compilers of lists have lately 
taken to calling it Princess of Wales, and selling it at 
a slightly higher price in consequence, but I can see 
no difference between my old friend albicans and the 


The Iris Beds 

new Princess, any more than there is between pallida 
dalmatica and pallida Princess Beatrice. Mr. Dykes has 
recently made the discovery that albicans is the albino 
form of /. Madonna. Here are his very words quoted 
from his sumptuous monograph : " A recent introduction 
under the name of I. Madonna was said to come from 
Arabia. When I watched the two plants developing in 
my garden, I could not help thinking that they were only 
colour varieties of the same species, and this supposition 
was confirmed by the discovery in the Paris herbarium 
of specimens of both that were found growing together 
on a mountain in the Yemen in Arabia as long ago as 

"This discovery, and the fact that /. albicans is the 
common ornament of Mahomedan cemeteries, gave the solu- 
tion of the puzzle, and we see now that the wide distribution 
of /. albicans is due to the fact that the Mahomedans took 
it everywhere with them as a sacred plant, or at least as 
a conventional ornament for graveyards." 

A still more beautiful pure-white Iris is that known as 
/. kashmiriana, especially the seedling form raised by Sir 
Michael Foster and called the Shelford variety. It is 
larger and more widely branching than albicans, but there 
must aye be a summat, and the summat here is as big 
a one as that of the Scots maiden. Mother asked, 
" Why will ye no marry Angus ? Is he no rich ? " 
"Yes, Mither." "And is he no tall?" "Yes, Mither." 
" And he has a fine braw hoose ? " " Yes, Mither, but 
I canna abide the man." "Ah weel, lassie, there must 
aye be a summat." /. kashmiriana is tall and richly 


My Garden in Summer 

scented, but it cannot be induced to live and flower in 
ordinary gardens. I had a fine spike here this summer, 
and gazed lovingly on its milk-white glory as day by 
day it opened its many flowers. From what I had 
heard of it I daily expected to hear it begin to sing 
a swan song, but so far — and perhaps if we whisper it 
gently it will not hear and begin to fail — it has made good 
growth and looks none the worse for the great flowers 
it bore. 

If you want a puzzle that will last you longer than a 
jig-saw, buy a few plants from different nurseries of Iris 
Kochii and /. germanica var. atropurpurea or Purple King, 
or even var. nepalensis, and worry out which is which, 
and at what time they flower, and how to make them 
flower regularly every season. It is now said that the last 
three are all one, and that their flowers show the white net- 
ting of the claw by the side of the blade, whereas you 
must hunt for it, and can only find it hidden away by the 
style-branches in Kochii, which is also a more slender 
flower. I think I have three things here, and can recog- 
nise true Kochii by its graceful slimness, but I'm blest if 
I know which is which of an early and later flowering 
pair of dark purple ones of the same colouring as Kochii, 
I have at times shaken my fist at a big square of green 
leaves that has no sign of a bud at flower-giving time, 
and said, " You must be the shy flowering Purple King, you 
lazy thing, and you shall go to a throne on the bonfire," 
After the auto-da-fe, I have split up a clump that was 
a solid block of purple, and planted the dethroned and 
calcined monarch's place with it, and then perhaps for a 


The Iris Beds 

season or two never a bloom do I see on one or other of 
the clumps, and I begin to wonder whether my stocks are 
mixed and in replanting I unconsciously single out one 
form for one patch. Sometimes unseasonable flowers are 
borne by them, and once, the year after replanting, quite 
a crop appeared in November, and in the end of that 
month I cut nearly a dozen good stems to save the great 
purple blooms from the frost. When I do get a good 
flowering either in late May or mid-June of one or other 
kind, I always wish for more and larger clumps, and then 
a sterile breadth of leaves confronts me for a season or 
two, and I feed the flames with it. I have an idea that 
the early flowering one is Purple King, and is a form that 
requires something unusual in the way of seasons to flower 
well, but goodness knows what the other form should be 

Here ends the list of Bearded Flags which contribute 
to the annual display of the Iris walk in summer, and we 
can now turn to the beardless section of the family. 



Beardless Irises of Summer 

There promises to be a great future for the new race of 
bulbous Irises that have lately emanated from Mynheer 
C, G. Van Tubergen's nursery under the name of Dutch 
Irises. They are really Spanish Irises gone one better, 
being larger, more robust in constitution, and of varied 
and beautiful colouring. They are the result of an 
attempted crossing of Iris Xiphium with such species as 
tingitana and Boissieri. Mr. Dykes, however, sees no trace 
of any characters save those of Xiphium in the new race, 
and it seems likely that they are descended from a large 
and early form of the Spanish Iris that he suggests should 
be known as /. Xiphium var, praecox. It is an old 
favourite of mine, and I have grown it for many years, 
but always under its trade but false name of /. filifolia, a 
name it filched from a little-known, purple-flowered kindred 
species. It generally begins to flower when the last of the 
Tulips has vanished, and in the end of May and beginning 
of June is very useful as a cut flower. Others have found 
this out, and it has gone up in price lately, I am sorry to 
say. These Dutch Irises are almost as early as the so- 
called _/?/i/b^ia, and are more beautiful in colour, for while 
the colour of this latter is invariably blue, the Dutch 


Beardless Irises of Summer 

varieties resemble some of the best-named forms of 
Spanish Iris, and contain many shades of yellow, lilac, 
and purple, while some are partly white. They have 
all been named after Dutch painters, on a very sensible 
and useful plan. I cut a goodly number this June, 
and enjoyed their beauty for quite a fortnight, and if I 
have a favourite among them perhaps it is that named 
Rembrandt, which reminds me somewhat of the shy 
flowering but glorious /. tingitana, but has no trace of the 
long perianth tube of that distinct species. It is curious, 
though, how frequently it has happened that when rather 
bold crossings have been attempted between somewhat 
distantly related species, and seed has been obtained, the 
offspring may not show any character that can be recog- 
nised as belonging to the pollen parent, and yet may 
possess some very distinct break in colour or size ; as 
though there had been no complete fusion of the nucleus 
of the pollen with that of the egg cell, and the latter alone 
had developed to form the embryo, but in so abnormal a 
condition that its balance has been sufficiently upset to 
induce it to launch out into unusual colouring or some 
such vagary. I have been shown some fine races of 
Polyanthus Primroses that resulted from pollen of P. 
sinensis and P. Auricula having been placed on ordinary 
Polyanthus forms: no botanical character of the pollen 
parent was discernible, but rich colourings and handsome 
eyes were very noticeable and an advance on those of the 
seed parents. So I think it possible that though the pollen 
of /. tingitana and others failed to produce a hybrid with 
/. Xiphium that could show any characters save those of 


My Garden in Summer 

XipMum it may have excited and stimulated a change of 
coloration. Anyway the Dutch Irises with their artists' 
names are showy and sturdy, early and beautiful, and well 
worth growing. The first set I purchased I left unlifted 
for three years in the peach-house bed, and they increased 
well and flowered each season, which is more than Spanish 
Irises have ever done under similar treatment. 

I grow a good many varieties of Spanish Irises, but 
chiefly for cutting purposes, and so they are planted in 
rows in the kitchen garden, and are lifted annually, the 
best bulbs picked out and planted again, and if they have 
not lifted well enough to promise a good supply of bloom 
we purchase reinforcements — not a serious matter, as they 
are about the cheapest bulbs for their size that one can 
buy. The variety Chrysolora, a good clear yellow of very 
elegant shape and slender stem, is one of the best for 
cutting, and there are many good, white forms that are 
useful to mix with it. But one of the most effective of all 
is Thunderbolt, a fine massive flower, bronze and orange 
shot with purple in a way that justifies its name. Now 
and then I get a few hundreds of Spanish Irises and plant 
them wherever I can find a vacant spot among the earlier 
Bearded Irises by the River, that they may follow them in 
flower, but they do not approve of the enforced competi- 
tion with the stronger-growing Flags, and die out in a 
season or two. Sometimes I vary the effect by using 
Gladiolus brenchleyensis in a like way, and with a similar 
fatal termination for them. English Irises, /. xiphioides, 
are such lovers of fat and juicy soil that they are nOne too 
happy in this dry, bony garden, and a few hundreds in 


Ins oclirolcuca. 
(See ].. i}../ 

Beardless Irises of Summer 

rows in the kitchen garden provide cut flowers in early 
July. I always buy those declared to be self-coloured, 
abjuring all described as flaked, splashed, speckled, veined, 
feathered, marbled, marked, pencilled, blotched, mottled, 
spotted, striped, or flamed. I have extracted the first 
eleven of these, to me, damnatory adjectives from one 
list of twenty-eight varieties, twenty-six of which are thus 
stigmatised, and it would appear difficult to find any 
variety without a stain on its character. Many good selfs 
exist, though. Mer de Glace and Mont Blanc are good 
whites ; speciosa, Julius, and Mr. Veen dark blues ; and 
Ariadne and Psyche pale blues. But one season a hitherto 
immaculate variety appeared with flowers bearing the mark 
of the beast all over them. I hoped it was only an attack 
of floral measles, but have since heard that it is not un- 
known for a plain variety to become brindled, tabby, 
flea-bitten, freckled, or dappled all of a sudden. I offer 
this list of adjectives free of extra charge to all list-com- 
pilers who possess a copy of this book. This peculiarity 
might be worth investigation, as a parallel case to the 
breaking of Tulips. 

Whenever I see /. ochroleuca I feel grateful to Mr. 
Dykes for having made it legitimate for us once again to call 
this stately member of the spuria group by its Linnaean 
and most descriptive name, for it is par excellence the 
yellow and white Iris. It varies somewhat, but in a really 
good form with wide and not too much tucked under 
falls, the rich golden blotch contrasts magnificently with 
the pure white of the rest of the flower. A form has been 
selected and named gigantea and is the tallest of all Irises, 

33 C 

My Garden in Summer 

and when treated as it deserves, which means getting 
good rich soil in an open position, and plenty of moisture 
and sunshine in the growing season, it should reach six 
feet in height, and as a stem will bear buds in three or 
even four tiers and two or three in each tier, the effect 
of a well-flowered stem is fine indeed. I. ochroleuca is 
one of those well-known old garden favourites whose 
origin and history are somewhat mysterious. Miller 
evidently knew the plant and gives a figure but with 
the extraordinary addition of a beard, a silly scrubby 
little beard it must be owned, and growing across the 
fall more like a moustache ; and in the great Dictionary 
he describes it as bearded three times over, and for this 
reason Mr. Dykes sets us free from using Miller's name 
of orientalis, for nowadays there is no trace of a beard 
to be found on it. Miller also says Dr. Pococke, a Bishop 
of Ossory, brought its seeds to the Chelsea Garden from 
Carniola, but Scopoli, who wrote the Flora of that country, 
knew no such plant, and now it is found in Asia Minor 
and on the coast of Palestine. Then it is recorded that 
Sir Michael Foster sowed seeds of ochroleuca which he 
believed were not in any way cross-fertilised, and when 
they flowered there was not one true ochroleuca among 
them, but they were slate-coloured or pale blue forms of 
/. spuria ! Even if we must rank it as a sub-species of 
spuria it is a grand garden plant, and grouped with its 
near relations, as I have it here at the back of two of 
the Iris beds, it makes a fine picture in late June and 
early July. Its nearest relative is its hybrid offspring 7. 
ochraurea, an even handsomer plant, for the deep yellow 


Beardless Irises of Summer 

of aurea has given a creamy-yellow tint to the white 
portions, and the falls are wider and a very rich yellow 
edged with creamy white. It is a good doer, and flowers 
more freely than most of the spuria group. 7. Monnieri 
is a still nearer approach to /. aurea, and is a good canary 
yellow, but like ochroleuca in shape. I well remember 
the first time I saw this beautiful flower. It was 
standing in a large vase on the hearth in the drawing- 
room at Bitton Vicarage, some half dozen stems cut full 
length and arranged with a shoot or two of the variegated 
form of Arundo Donax. It was my first visit to Bitton, 
and I was astonished at the sight of such things being 
cut for the house, and when I saw the stately lines of 
the Iris down the long Iris walk I was still more 
deeply impressed with the rich treasures of that best of 
gardens, and superlatively so when I saw the clump of /. 
Monnieri that Canon Ellacombe bade old Miller dig up 
for me to carry home. I. Monspur is one of Sir Michael 
Foster's many creations, Monnieri crossed with spuria, 
and combines the purple and gold of its parents. I 
like it better than typical spuria, and as for spuria alba, 
though I should be sorry to lose it, yet I feel it is best 
to plant it some distance away from ochroleuca to give 
it a chance of admiration. Our chief group of these 
giants of the family had to be lifted and replanted lately, 
which means a wait of two seasons before they regain 
full flowering vigour ; but yard-high leaves, stiff and solid 
and of rich warm green, such a pleasant contrast with 
the blue and grey greens of their neighbouring pallida 
cousins, are already repaying our toil and promise great 


My Garden in Summer 

events in the near future. Even if they flowered less 
freely they would be worthy of a fair space for the sake 
of these same stately leaves. Aurea alone of this spuria 
group refuses to respond to our efforts to make it happy 
and bright, and sulks itself into a leanness that robs even 
its leaves of beauty. Another ingrate here is the white 
form of /, orientalis known as Snow Queen, which although 
it has had many of the choicest quarters in the garden 
allotted to it has only rewarded us with first yellow then 
brown leaves and finally a mass of decay. I admire it 
so much, and as I can grow its purple form almost any- 
where, I am trying once more whether seedling plants 
will be more obliging. The tall white form of /. sibirica 
grows magnificently in the hot, dry bed in front of the 
peach-house, and provides many a tall wand bearing ivory 
blossoms for cutting, but when divided the portions that 
I try elsewhere in the garden, even in similarly sun-baked 
positions, give me but few flowers and those on diminished 
stems. If I had never tried it by the peach-house I 
should have declared it was not worth growing here, which 
shows how careful you should be to " Do all that you 
know, and try all that you don't " just as much in choosing 
a place for a plant as in hunting a snark. 

All the other forms of /. sibirica I find do best in our 
nearest approach to moist positions, and one I like more 
than the rest is called gracilis, and grows very tall, with 
branching and gracefully-curving stems, supporting rather 
paler blue flowers than those of most of this group. It 
resides in the rock garden, in a stifiish bit of soil that 
holds up the bank by one of the tiny ponds, and would 


Beardless Irises of Summer 

very likely be dumpy and hideous in a drier position ; 
just the opposite, however, happens in the case of /. fulva, 
for in it we have a plant from the swamps of the Mis- 
sissippi Valley that will grow vigorously in a wet, boggy 
position, and will refuse to flower there, but in the 
hottest, driest spots in the garden, where it looks half 
starved, and on hot July days often rather limp, it will 
throw up tall stems that produce, day after day for a long 
period, copper-coloured flowers with spreading segments, 
much more like some Moraea than an Iris. I suppose, in 
a warmer climate, it would flower in the bog garden and 
be larger than it is here in a counterfeit Sahara. It is 
one of the Irises that proclaims to the world at large its 
thirsty disposition by the possession of dark spots in the 
leaves, best seen when a leaf is held up against the light. 
This useful mark of distinction was discovered by Mr. 
Dykes, and in case some of my readers have not yet 
purchased the great monograph, I quote his words there- 
from : " Nature has provided us with an infallible sign 
which will show us whether an Iris is a native of a dry 
or a wet soil. This will be seen if leaves of /. Pseudacorus 
or /. versicolor are held up to the light side by side with 
a leaf of a Pogoniris, for instance, of /. germanica. The 
latter will appear of a uniform green, but the former will 
show a number of minute, blackish spots, which, on micro- 
scopical examination, prove to be due to the fact that at 
these points the vertical channels in the tissue of the 
leaves are blocked by growths of apparently the same 
structure as that which surrounds the passages. The 
increased thickness of the structure at these points pro- 


My Garden in Summer 

duces the appearance of the black spots." This curious 
correlation of a minute structural peculiarity with a 
natural habit of character is just one of those things I 
like to know about my plants, and gives them an interest 
that I enjoy quite as much as the beauty of their colour 
effect and artistic value in a grouping. A parallel instance 
may be found in the curiously tessellated appearance of 
the leaves of certain Bamboos when held up to the light, 
which, so far as I know, is only found in species that are 
hardy enough for our climate. It is also found in the 
only really hardy Palm, Trachycarpus excelsus. The leaves 
of those Cassias that possess the most reliable medicinal 
qualities for producing Senna, have one leaflet missing 
from the terminal pair found complete in the useless 
members of the genus. The twisted leaf generally 
present in seedling Daffodils with maximus blood in them, 
the bearded and unbearded sepals Of Roses derived from 
Rosa canina, occur to me as a few among the many 
signatures borne by plants which are of real use in con- 
trast with the fancied ones prated of by the upholders 
of the Doctrine of Signatures. 

It is a hard matter to find accommodation for 7m 
Kaempferi here, as the edges of the New River and pond 
are not suitable. The river has closely-shorn grass banks 
that are slapped and banged to keep their clay founda- 
tions hard and water tight, and so are not available for 
any sort of planting, and the pond is puddled with clay 
so that the stony banks are cut off from the water by the 
clay, and we must either choose plants that can stand 
drought for them, or build out promontories into the 


DoLilile lunn nf JiipanciC Iris 1 1. K.-u-nipfri'i). 
(Stc p. jH.) 

Beardless Irises of Summer 

water for thirsty subjects. Japanese Irises will do for a 
short time planted on a specially prepared promontory, but 
soon exhaust it, and require a good deal of looking after, so 
I have not got the long stretches of them that I should like, 
but only a yard or two that give me great flat white and 
purple flowers in July when other Irises are becoming 
scarce. We have made special provision for a few extra 
choice kinds, such as Morning Mist, with its flush of blue 
on the sparkling white two-ranked falls, and /. laevigata, 
as it seems we must now call the I. albopurpurea that, 
except for its taller standard, is so much like a single 
/. Kaempferi. This provision takes the form of sinking 
halves of paraffin barrels in the Iris border, and having 
put some coarse crocks and stones in them for drainage 
filling them with rich soil and peat. Japanese Irises 
thrive wonderfully under such treatment in a hot, dry 
border if only their tubs are freely watered just as the 
flowering stems are being produced, but after three or 
four years the soil must be removed and replaced by 
fresh soil. Our wild Yellow Flag, Iris Pseudacorus, does 
well in the pond, growing in the shallows into huge 
masses. Its young foliage is very beautiful in Spring 
rising out of the water, and the display of flowers lasts 
a long time, and then when the great fat seedpods begin 
to weigh the stems down we have to go round the clumps 
in the punt, and cut off all the pods we can find, to 
prevent the pond and half the garden being filled with 
greedy young Pseudacorus seedlings. For the seeds float 
and are not only carried to the edge of the pond and 
anchored there to germinate, but they are scooped up 


My Garden in Summer 

freely in water-cans, and thereby sown wherever plants 
are watered, and handsome as this native plant is one can 
easily have too much of it. There is some confusion as to 
the names of its varietal forms, the name Bastardii being 
often used for a pale sulphur form which I think very beau- 
tiful and which sometimes appears in lists called var. alba. 
I believe Bastardii should be a form of the ordinary canary- 
yellow colour, but in which the central blotch at the base 
of the fall is no darker than the surrounding yellow, a form 
I have come across in more than one of my rambles in 
marshy spots in search of plants and insects. There is 
a good variegated leaved form, with bold stripes of pale 
yellow on the young leaves of Spring, which shade 
gradually into the normally darker green portions, and 
produce a pleasantly soft-golden effect, making it very 
suitable for grouping, for sake of contrast, alongside a 
clump of the ordinary form ; but towards the end of June 
the lighter yellow portions deepen until there is little of 
variegation noticeable. 

I. versicolor comes from the eastern side of North 
America, and there fills swamps and grows along the 
sides of streams just as our Yellow Flag does in Britain. 
The Yankee makes a fine companion for the Britisher, 
and will grow almost anywhere it is put, but is certainly 
best with its toes in the muddy edge or even slightly 
submerged, and looks especially well at the foot of a 
colony of /. Psetidacorus, growing only half the height 
of the yellow fellow, and having flowers of every imagin- 
able shade of purple and lilac, and in one variety called 
kermesina, almost crimson. Another feature I like is the 


Beardless Irises of Summer 

way the leaves, when half-grown, arch over and make 
a charming contrast with the stiff er swords oiPseudacorus. 
I have one form that has the good taste to produce 
brilliantly golden leaves during April and early May, 
which are wonderfully effective among the various greens 
of other youthful waterside plants ; but as it is a crimson- 
flowered form, one is glad that these golden leaves mature 
to a rich green before the flowers appear. 

I had seeds given me of an Iris from Newfoundland 
that turned out to be a very pretty pale lilac form of 
versicolor of particularly graceful, slender habit, and dis- 
tinct enough to have found an honourable mention in 
Mr. Dykes' book. 

Two more Irises of the Summer call for notice, and 
then we must leave the family. These are /, Milesii and 
/. tedorum, closely related in structural peculiarities and 
geographical distribution, for both come from Eastern 
Asia, Northern India, or China and Japan, and both have 
a curiously-fringed crest in place of a beard, and there 
the likeness ceases, for Milesii is tall and lanky and free 
flowering, but the flowers are small, of a rather mawkish 
claret and water colouring, and always rather disappoint- 
ing, after the amount of fuss the plant makes in sending 
up such a tall and freely-branched stem from among such 
great handsome leaves. 

The flowers of I. tectorum are almost too large for 
their length of stem, but very beautiful whether of the 
typical blue-purple, the lilac, or pure white forms, and 
always a pleasant surprise, with their large spreading 
standards and white crests, when one sees them again for 


My Garden in Summer 

the first time in the season, as their colouring is so charm- 
ing and the whole eflFect so orchid-like. But most people, 
and just latterly I too, rarely get enough blooms on our 
plants, and I want large patches of them thick with 
flowers both to look at and tell yarns about. It is so 
useful to have plenty of plants with a history. When 
one trots a Nature-study class or a local Horticultural 
Society round the garden it is enough to point out in- 
teresting structures, botanical peculiarities, and relation- 
ships, but bodies of non-gardening folk require condensed 
novels, weird legends of plants with a past, such as 
Mistletoe and Mandrake. Many find a morbid satisfac- 
tion in gazing at the Edelweiss, for their one notion of it 
IS that it only lives on the edges of treacherous precipices 
to lure its would-be gatherers to an awful end. This 
may be true of the last plant left within the compass of 
an afternoon toddle from a fashionable Swiss hotel. Had 
it not been protected by its position it would have been 
grabbed by Mr. Brown or Mrs. Jones, instead of waiting 
for Mr. Robinson's London boots to glissade him over 
the edge just as he had it in his hand. But go high 
enough among the mountains and you will find the level 
pastures so thick with it that you cannot even dig up other 
plants without getting its rosettes among their roots. It 
would not do, however, to enlarge on that part of the 
plant's story to such visitors, for they want you to make 
their flesh creep. /. tectorum always makes a good text, 
but is better when in flower. You can work up the 
agony of the awful famine and the wisdom of the Japanese 
Government in ordering every scrap of garden ground to 


Beardless Irises of Summer 

Oe planted with grain, and the despair of the ladies who 
depended on the Iris for hair-dye, face powder, or corn- 
plasters, or anything you think interests your audience — 
even the love of Beauty which led them to almost worship 
its flowers, if you have an Art-class before you. The 
final brilliant idea of planting it on the thatch of the 
houses, and how it thrives there, &c., and then you had 
better hurry on to your next penny novelette before too 
many questions are asked about this pretty but none too 
authentic story. If only the Burning Bush, Dictamnus 
Fraxinella, would burn when you wanted it to, and New 
Zealand Flax, Phormium tenax, grow as freely here as in 
Ireland to provide enough leaves for each visitor to scrape 
and extract the strong fibre to twist into whip thongs, 
one could do without lying about I. tectorum. Some 
plants never fail to interest even the most unbotanical 
folk. Schinus Molle is one, better known, perhaps, as the 
Pepper Tree of streets in towns along the Mediterranean. 
Its pretty, pinnate leaves smell deliciously of freshly- 
ground pepper-corns when broken, but of course have 
nothing to do with the plant that fills our pepper-pots, 
and which is Piper nigrum, a climbing plant. These 
leaves are so highly charged with a volatile oil that, when 
the leaflets are broken in half and thrown on to water, 
the broken cells absorb water, and the result is a sudden 
discharge of the resinous oil, a momentary iridescent 
patch on the surface, and a sudden shooting along of the 
portion of leaf, due to the recoil of the explosion. On 
a hot day these expulsions of oil will recur at short 
intervals, and the leaves, looking as though they were 


My Garden in Summer 

possessed of voluntary motion, will shoot about in all 
directions like green water-beetles. The tree is not hardy 
here, so lives in a large pot, and when it emerges from 
its winter home in the peach-house, is plunged in one of 
the beds of the terrace by the river, where it is handy for 
aquatic displays and foliar regattas. 

Another never-failing attraction is hunting for four- 
leaved Shamrock on the dark-leaved form of Trifolium 
repens known as quinquefoHum, which mostly produces five 
leaflets on each stalk, but also a goodly number of the 
lucky four-leaved ones, so that they require a little looking 
for, and when found carry the luck with them, let us hope, 
that is supposed to follow the finding of a four-leaved 
Shamrock. The hardy, rubber-producing plant, Eucommia 
ulmoides, is planted near the gate, and is useful to speed a 
parting guest on occasions when speed is desirable. You 
say, " But have you seen the hardy Rubber plant ? No ? 
Then come along," and you move briskly to the place and 
pluck a leaf and roll it, and then pull it asunder and the 
latex forms gummy strings that harden in the air, and 
can, by twisting the separate portions of leaf, be made 
into a stoutish rubber string. It will stretch out a little, 
but will not contract, so I fear will not be of any com- 
mercial value, nor shall we make our own rubber tyres of 
it. When interest flags a little you ask, " Wouldn't you 
like a few leaves to take home with you ? " and the 
departure of the most lingering visitor generally follows 
soon afterwards. 

But we have wandered a long way from Iris tectorum, 
and I want to tell you of my disappointment over it — for 


Beardless Irises of Summer 

in this garden it is at present one of the has-beens. Do 
you know the tale of the old maids who quarrelled, and 
Pussy Cat said with a sniff, " You needn't talk, you are 
one of the has-beens," and Catty Puss retorted, " Better 
than you, anyway, for you are one of the never-wases," 
and Iris Milesii I consider one of the never-wases, but 
tectorum I hope will turn again like Dick Whittington. It 
never did much in the rock garden ledges I thought it 
might take for roofs, and then a friend said it did well 
with him in partial shade, and I tried it under a lop-sided 
Sycamore, and it throve marvellously until I cut down the 
Sycamore. Now I am about to move the weakly remnants 
to the shelter of the Yews to try if they will revive there. 
Every other neighbouring plant rejoices in the departure 
of that Sycamore, but 7. tectorum has pined away grieving 
for it ever since its fall. 




The postal address of this garden calls up a vision of a 
rose-growing country with a soil of fat, clayey loam, and 
the honoured names of eminent Rose specialists for near 
neighbours. The reality is another thing. I can drive 
within an hour into regions where thousands of Roses 
scent the air, and the finest and newest are to be seen 
grown to perfection by my neighbours — .the Pauls on one 
side, and by Stuart Low on the other — but if you plunge 
a garden fork into the lawns here you will soon learn that 
this slightly raised ground that contains the garden is too 
bony, on account of the deposits of gravel left here by 
some vast primeval continental river's mouth, to produce 
show blooms of Roses without Herculean efforts in the 
way of excavating and a corresponding filling up that 
would better suit the purse of Fortunatus or the pockets 
of Croesus, Midas, Plutus & Co. than mine. So the Rose 
garden here covers square yards instead of acres, and is 
just pretty to look at and useful to cut from but nothing 
to boast of or write about at any length. It consists of a 
central group of four formal beds for Roses and four for 
Carnations, surrounding the old Enfield Market Cross in 
an enclosed garden. This is a parallelogram, with a 


ll\biii.i 1 e:i Kose, -Matlaiiic 1\;i\"hi\, 
(See ]). 48.; 


pergola for western boundary, several of my favourites 
among climbing Roses occupying its posts on the rose 
garden side. The southern side is the most open, and 
only divided from the Iris beds along the River by a 
wide bed for standard dwarf roses, with a row of, at 
present, promising young Eucalyptus trees among them. 
The eastern side is flanked by a continuation of this bed, 
backed by the Rhododendrons that line one side of the 
Rhododendron walk and a Magnolia or two rising above 
them. The Northern side is another portion of this 
surrounding bed, but it is divided in its midst by a narrow 
paved walk of old York stone paving from London streets, 
now passing their old age quietly and peacefully in the 
country. This leads into the little formal garden where 
my best Daffodils grow and up to the new wall and its 
central garden house, which together cut off the cruel 
winds and make this paved garden so cosy and sheltered 
that a list of the bold ventures in planting it must be 
made before long, but first I must review and dismiss 
the Rose beds. One of the four round ones is devoted 
to Frau Karl Druschki, and produces pure white, scentless 
flowers for an astonishingly lengthy period. They are very 
lovely to look at and cut for the house, where their lasting 
qualities are dear to my lazy soul, that likes not daily re- 
newal of cut flowers, but would be driven to action by an 
off-colour second day Rose, such as one finds in most 
red and pink varieties. La France for pink and Rayon 
d'or for yellow are next best to Frau Karl for lasting in 
beauty when cut. So I value Frau Karl in spite of its 
scentlessness and its somewhat monumental marble ap- 


My Garden in Summer 

pearance — the sort of Rose, in fact, that you might expect 
to see in the dress or bonnet of a member of one of those 
marvellous groups of sorrowing relations surrounding a 
deathbed, whose lace and buttons and even tears are so 
laithfully represented in white marble in the famous 
Campo Santo at Genoa. Caroline Testout fills another 
bed — I am not quite sure yet whether sufficiently worthily 
to retain possession — and a third bed pleases me mightily 
with its never-failing Summer and Autumn supply of single 
Tea-roses, for the Irish Singles and the real old single China, 
Miss Lowe's variety, are its generous occupants. The 
fourth contains yellow and orange-coloured Roses in a 
mixture until I can make up my mind and my accounts in 
favour of filling it with Rayon d'or, which so far has proved 
the best of its inhabitants. It is always good to look at, 
with its glossy, healthy leaves that seem to be immune 
from the attacks of fungus pests and grassy-pillars and cat- 
terhoppers innumerable, according to the nervous curate's 
rendering of that entomological verse of the Psalms. 

The two beds that intervene between the Rose and 
paved gardens I planned most carefully, with all my notes 
at shows and all the catalogues of the year to help me, so 
as to begin at one end with yellows, oranges and lemons 
both, and those indescribable shades that have sufficient 
affinity with a yellow to be flattered in catalogues as cop- 
pery-salmon, apricot, chamois, nankeen, or straw colour. 
A selection of these easily filled up the right-hand bed, the 
only difficulty being which to leave out. The Lyons Rose 
and Mme. Ravary are there, and dwarf forms such as the two 
La Mesch roses with Canarien Vogel, Sulphurea, and Perle 


,e, Fi.-iu Kai-1 Driisili!;!. 
l^Src p. 4--) 


d'or were used to edge the front and the side by the stone 
path, and have grown into one of the most effective and pro- 
ductive of my Rose plantings. The opposite bed is edged 
with white and pink dwarfs, Mrs. Cutbush, Mignonette, Anna 
Maria de Montravel, for examples, but never a trace of the 
militant Mme. Levavasseur, whose tint of red, flattered in 
lists as crimson, is as violently combative with any decent 
quiet red as Crimson Rambler its horrible self. The main 
colouring of this bed is pink shading to real crimson, bul 
warm salmon-pink, such as that of Mme. Abel Chatenay, 
Pharisaer, and Prince de Bulgarie, is admitted besides the 
rose-pink of La France before we reach Richmond, Liberty 
and, at last, Cramoisie Sup6rieure, which is the deepest 
note in crimson I care to admit in this harmony, just far 
enough from Richmond to correspond with the inevitable 
drop from the dominant to the keynote in the bass of two 
final chords. A-men — Sol-Do. 

That sums up the poverty of the garden as far as new 
or show Roses are concerned, but I will not allow that 
altogether it is poor in Roses, for to me the various species 
and their forms and hybrids are the real Roses, and I have 
managed to find nooks and corners for a goodly company 
of them. Many of them are easily pleased, and will 
flourish among shrubs and trees in places not easy to fill 
otherwise with good effect. I have a very real affection 
for single Roses, and feel rather annoyed when I hear 
them called Briers — which, although it is not quite such a 
term of reproach nowadays as formerly, still is not exactly 
flattering. " Brere " in early and mediaeval English was 
any thorny bush, an equivalent of " bramble '' and a near 

49 D 

My Garden in Summer 

relative of the word "thorn." Then in sixteenth century 
English it became " bryer," " brier," and " briar," just as 
"frere" grew into "friar," and was used of wild roses chiefly, 
and more of the thorny bush than the flowers. So in the 
brawl in the Temple Gardens in Henry VI, Shakespeare 
makes Plantagenet say, "From off this brier pluck a 
white rose with me," and Somerset's rejoinder varies it 
with " Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me," 
and Emilia's figure of the Rose and the North Wind in 
Two Nolle Kinsmen, which ends : 

" She locks her beauties in her bud again 
And leaves him to base Briers," 

shows clearly " brier " is not a fitting name for my beloved 
single Roses. 

Let me give you some reasons why they appeal so 
strongly to me. First, I do so enjoy the beauty of form 
in the flowers : the central mass or ring of stamens and 
the simple outlines of the five equal petals in their endless 
variations of relative positions are always worth drawing, 
and have an expression, a symmetry, that I can only 
compare with the charm of a beautiful and familar face. 
Who wants to see the human object of their devotion 
improved by a multiplicity of noses of varying sizes, the 
innermost being little more than slices of nose so as to 
pack into the centre ? Then why should a Rose need 
doubling ? Secondly, their habit of growth can be allowed 
as a rule to assert itself, and so they grow into natural 
and graceful specimens needing little pruning and no 
cutting back to stumps like those of ancient Osiers. 



Thirdly, they are so healthy and satisfactory on rather 
poor soil where florists' Roses would starve and, there- 
fore, they are better suited to this garden. Fourthly, so 
many of them have beautiful fruits that carry on their 
charm into the Winter, and lastly they are so full of 
character and individuality that there is a never-ending 
interest to be found in studying and comparing their 

Prickles alone would furnish a subject for a lifelong 
study, if not only the classification of forms were to be 
fully dealt with, but the use, purpose, and evolution of the 
different varieties. Just call to mind the strongly-hooked, 
down-curved sickles of the Dog-rose, splendidly designed 
implements for allowing a young shoot to pass through 
tangled growths, and so well adapted for preventing its 
being withdrawn and to steady it until it gets out in the 
free air above its neighbours. Compare them with the 
needles that clothe our Burnet Rose, a plant of open sand 
dunes and downs. In other Roses the prickles are hetero- 
morphic, varying in shape and direction among themselves. 
R. reversa has gained its name from the universally down- 
ward-pointing, needle-shaped spines clothing its stems. 
There are two distinct forms of R. nitida : one has almost 
smooth stems, while in the other the young shoots, like 
those of R. Fedtschenkoana, are so entirely covered with 
crimson spines that they look like long hairy caterpillars, 
and even in their old age are precious prickly to touch. 
Again, that polymorphic eccentric R. sericea can appear 
with almost any sort of prickle one's fancy can fashion. 
In its less inventive mood it is contented with two sorts, 


My Garden in Summer 

stout hooked ones in pairs close to the leaves, and wickedly 
sharp needles scattered about between them. In some 
Chinese forms the young shoots are gloriously beautiful 
in their armature of prickles, which have wings rising 
out of the stems an inch long, with transparent crimson 
skins that glow out when lit up by the setting sun like 
stained glass in old windows. This Rose of the winged 
prickles, whence its varietal name pteracantha, is worth 
growing for these ruby gleams alone, and if cut down 
close to the ground each Spring, though the small and 
early flowers are sacrificed, the summer display of glowing 
thorns is so much enhanced thereby that this hard pruning 
is justified. R. sericea's vagaries lead it to appear in yet 
another guise as var. denudata, without prickles of any 
sort and as bald as a poached egg, thus going one better 
than the so-called Rose without a thorn, R. cUpina and 
its many varieties and hybrid offspring the Boursaults, 
which have a few prickles lurking here and there ready 
for a soft finger, as well as plenty of bristly spines at 
the base of new shoots. I know I ought to call this Rose 
pendulina nowadays to be in accord with the sumptuous 
monograph Miss Willmott and her coadjutors have 
launched, but I have hopes that the long-delayed final 
number^ and its index will reinstate some of the better- 
known names, as a period of six months is quite long 
enough for the discovery of a bristle or suspicion of a 
gland or something on Linnaeus' type specimen that 
might allow us to believe it was after all the hybrid he 

^ It has appeared at last, but the name pendulina remains in possession of 
the field. 



described as penduUna. So for the present I shall call 
it R. alpina, which better recalls the joy its crimson flowers 
have given me in subalpine regions, especially in the 
woodlands round Airolo or leaning out across the Mt. 
Cenis Road as one passes those picturesque and im- 
pregnable-looking forts on the ridge that dominates the 
narrow gorge through which river and road have found 
their way. 

After much study has answered the how and when 
and where of thfese questions, there will still remain 
the biggest query of all, Why ? So big that years of 
travelling to see forms in their native homes, hours of 
patient watching to find out what unwelcome insect guest 
is out-manoeuvred, or what mechanical advantage is gained, 
by a downward curved or straight prickle, would be but 
the beginning of its solution. Still it is good to realise 
that there is plenty of work for the naturalists of the 
future, and that even the Roses still provide interesting 
points for study. 

Milton states the rose was without thorn in Eden, 
and the familiar proverb that this has been changed, but 
the botanist carries us back to Paradise, for to the botanists 
no Rose possesses a thorn, which in their parlance is an 
aborted branch such as one finds on Hawthorn and Sloe, 
and the weapons of the Roses are only prickles, that is to 
say, merely outgrowths of the skin or bark, and without a 
woody core as in a Sloe's thorn or spine. 

The sepals are as full of variations and interest as 
the prickles, and are often good guides to follow in 
searching out the relationship of a Rose. The best 


My Garden in Summer 

example I can cite is to be found in our commonest 
wild Rose, R. canina, which in its own person and also 
in all its near relations and descendants, even unto the 
third and fourth generation, bears three patterns of 
sepals, two being bearded or ciliated, two smooth edged, 
and the fifth with one edge of either pattern. Many a 
botanist of older days has found delight in this arrange- 
ment, and it has been recorded in various ways, even in 
Latin verse. Here are two examples : 

" Quinque sumus fratres, unus barbatus et alter, 
Imberbesque duo, sum semiberbis ego." 

And the other : 

" Quinque sumus fratres, et eodem tempore nati 
Sunt duo barbati, duo sunt sine barba creati. 
Unus et e quinque non est barbatus utrinque," 

which has been pleasantly Englished thus : 

" Of us five brothers at the same time bom, 
Two from our birthday ever beards have worn. 
On other two none ever have appeared, 
While our fifth brother wears but half a beard." 

Sir Thomas Browne has partly given the clue to this 
division of beards, and writes : 

" Nothing is more admired than the five brethren of 
the Rose, and the strange disposure of the appendices or 
beards on the calycular leaves thereof. , . . For those 
two which are smooth and of no beard are contrived to 
be undermost, as without prominent parts, and fit to be 
smoothly covered, the other two which are beset with 
beards on either side stand outwards and uncovered, but 



the fifth or half-bearded leaf is covered on the one side, 
but on the open side stands free and bearded Hke the 

Thus indeed it is, and the edges of each sepal that 
are on the outside in the closed state of the bud are 
furnished with beards, and so the bud is protected from 
some enemy, possibly roving caterpillars like those of cer- 
tain noctuae and geometrae that emerge at night for a feast, 
and hide by day, but do not live in a burrow in the 
heart of a flower. These could find a nicely-prepared 
meal in the many free edges of these beards, and these 
would perhaps be enough for one sitting without boring 
into the flower and so destroying its reproductive organs. 
But that is only a guess of my own, based more on 
my experience of the ways of caterpillars than a need- 
ful examination of the flowers of a large number of 
Roses to observe how many have had their beards 
gnawed away ; and it is better to turn to hard facts, 
which will at least explain how it is that five edges of 
the sepals are beardless if they will not tell us why 
the remaining five need appendages. Aestivation and 
phyllotaxy are the terms botanists apply to the solu- 
tions of the whole matter, and as the Dog Rose makes 
a very good illustration of their working, I cannot resist 
the temptation to enlarge on this fascinating study. Those 
who dislike a lesson in elementary botany, or know all 
about it already, will please skip a page or two while I 
take aestivation as my text and turn to those among my 
readers who, like myself, prefer to have a thing thoroughly 


My Garden in Summer 

Linnaeus invented the term "aestivation " to denote the 
folding up of the parts of a flower in the bud stage, cor- 
responding with the word " vernation," which he used for 
leaves only ; and the various methods Nature employs in 
this neat packing make most fascinating objects for study. 
Here we have to deal with a flower whose calyx and 
corolla consist of five pieces each, five sepals and five 
petals ; and you can see at once that there cannot be 
many different ways of folding five pieces to wrap 
round one another. The simplest, perhaps, would be to 
arrange that one edge of each piece should be overlapped 
by the segment next to it ; thus each would have one 
edge inside and one free. This plan is found commonly 
in flowers of five petals, and is characteristic of whole 
families such as Apocynaceae, of which the Periwinkle is 
an example ; Onagraceae, where it is plainly seen in the 
petals of Evening Primroses and Fuchsias, and also in 
Malvaceae, Gentianaceae, Polemoniaceae, and is known as 
convolute aestivation. If but one inner edge of this 
arrangement should become deranged and develop out- 
side instead of inside, one of the segments will be alto- 
gether outside of the others, with both edges free, and 
the segment next to it on the side of its deranged edge 
will necessarily be altogether overlapped and have both 
edges inside. This is a second possible arrangement, but 
is rare, and has been called cochlear, spoonlike, but good- 
ness knows why. Then should one more petal allow the 
edge that should be inside to escape to the outside (I 
hope no one is confused, and fancies they are dancing the 
Grand Chain figure of the Lancers), we should find two 



petals with both edges free on the outside, two with both 
edges overlapped, and one petal with one edge free and 
the other overlapped. This third possible arrangement is 
a very common one, and is called a quincuncial aesti- 
vation, and is the form always found in a normally 
developed single Rose in which the petals overlap at all, 
and also in a Primrose. Looking into the open face of 
such a flower we see that two inner petals that are not 
next each other stand up with all their edges free, and 
these would be wrapped innermost in the bud ; two 
others, also not next each other, show no free edge and 
so would lie outermost in the bud, and the last petal, of 
course, must have one edge free but the other over- 

It is rather fascinating to look out for this arrangement 
in living flowers and drawings of them, and you will find 
that artists frequently play tricks with the aestivation of 
their subjects. 

This brings us back to Sir Thomas Browne's descrip- 
tion of the calyx of the Dog Rose, and we can easily see 
that the slight overlapping of the edges of the sepals 
accounts for the absence of beard on five edges out of ten, 
to wit those that lie overlapped, and so must be unbearded 
to be packed away inside, and that it is their quincuncial 
arrangement which determines which of them shall have 
beards on both sides, or half a beard or none. You can 
easily make a paper model to demonstrate the variations 
in aestivation. I will give you a recipe for it instead of 
the cookery one that most writers on gardens nowadays 
provide. Take a sheet of paper, your own as you will 


My Garden in Summer 

spoil it, and then a half-crown, someone else's if you can 
get it, place it on the paper, and use it to draw a circle by 
running a pencil round its edge in the usual manner, then 
draw by your eye another concentric circle at the distance 
of half an inch from the former, and trace five half-crown 
circles at equal distances round the outside, their inner 
edges just touching the outer edge of the larger circle. 
Cut the design out and remove the central half-crown- 
sized circle, and you have five petals separated somewhat 
from each other on a ring. Then double a fold in the 
ring of paper between each mock petal so as to bring 
them as close as you can get them, and their edges will 
overlap ; you can then arrange them quincuncially, con- 
volutely, or in the intermediate stage that is so meaning- 
lessly termed cochlear, and you will find there are two 
variants of this, the one I have already mentioned with 
one petal with both edges outside next to one with both 
inside, which is formed by pulling out one inner edge 
of a petal in a convolute arrangement, which has some- 
times been called sub-convolute, whereas the other variant 
is most easily made from a quincuncial arrangement by 
tucking in one edge of one of the petals that normally 
has both edges outside. This is called a sub-imbricate 
arrangement, and has one petal with both edges outside, 
and one petal with both inside, but in this case they 
are not next to each other as in a sub-convolute arrange- 
ment, and in fact this is the arrangement we find in a 
Pansy blossom. 

If you are fond of mental arithmetic of a mild and 
easy grade we will go on together to find out how the 



quincuncial arrangement of petals is brought about and is 
so common in plants whose leaves are arranged alternately, 
that is standing separately at regular distances up the stem, 
and the opposite of the whorled arrangement in which two 
leaves (then called opposite leaves) or more than two 
occur all at one height on the stem. 

If you take a well-grown, straight shoot of an alter- 
nate leaved plant, tie a thread to the lowest leaf and twist 
the thread round the footstalk of the leaf next above it on 
the stem, and so on to the others, each in their order of 
nearness, you will find your thread is mounting the stem 
in a spiral, and in the greater number of alternate-leaved 
plants, the Rose and Apple among them, it will make two 
complete turns of the spiral before it reaches the stalk of 
a leaf exactly in a line above the first one it was tied to, 
and that this will be the sixth leaf met with. That means 
each leaf in this spiral has an angular divergence of two- 
fifths of the circumference, and it takes five leaves and 
two turns to complete one spiral. Phyllotaxy is the term 
used to express the mode of insertion of leaves on the 
stem with regard to its axis — so here we have a five-ranked 
phyllotaxy, also called pentastichous and occasionally 
quincuncial, so we are now getting burning hot, as children 
say when playing at Hide and Seek. 

This will be more apparent if you will cut out another 
paper model. Draw a line half an inch from, and parallel 
with, the longer edge of a half sheet of notepaper, and at 
regular intervals along it draw six leaves standing out at 
right angles from the line ; cut the drawing out in one 
piece, and you have six leaves standing out on one side of 


My Garden in Summer 

a half-inch wide stem. Take a round ruler or penholder, 
or some other long and cylindrical body that is handy, and 
twine the paper stem round it, and bend your leaves to 
stand away at right angles from it. You will find that 
you can make the paper take two turns to complete a 
spiral in which the sixth leaf shall come exactly overhead 
the first and lowest, and you will have the -^ or five- 
ranked phyllotaxy demonstrated under your very nose. 
Suppose you could shut up the ruler like a telescope, or 
better still, carefully slide the spirally twisted paper down 
to the lower end, keeping it twisted in its spiral and the 
leaves in their relative places, you, as it were, suppress the 
internodes between the leaves, and bring all six into a whorl. 
One, the sixth and uppermost, had better be torn off as it 
now lies on the top of number one the lowest, and if you 
have drawn fat round leaves their edges should overlap, 
and as they settle down they will arrange themselves quin- 
cuncially, and you learn that that arrangement of petals, 
or sepals, is the natural outcome of a ^ phyllotaxy with 
the axis suppressed. 

This mathematical relation between the arrangement 
of the petals and that of the leaves is also seen by noticing 
that the lowest petal, which is of course that with both 
edges outside, is placed at an angle of divergence of two- 
fifths of the circumference from the next lowest, that is 
the only other one that can have both its edges outside ; 
that means, measuring round the nearest way between the 
two with both edges outside, or in the case of Dog 
Rose sepals, both edges bearded, you have one between 
them which must perforce have both its edges overlapped 



by one edge of either of its neighbours, and if we number 
them as we go, these two outer ones are number one and 
number two. Number three will be another two-fifths 
along, and can only have one edge outside, namely, the first 
edge we arrive at in measuring round the nearest way, 
making the last of the possible five outside edges, and there- 
fore its other edge will be overlapped and inside, and the 
first of the five inner ones. Number four will lie between 
numbers one and two, and, as we have already seen, has 
its edges overlapped, and number five must lie between 
numbers two and three. That is, we make a double turn 
in completing our cycle, and we have each segment 
arranged just as the alternate leaves were, one at every 
two-fifths of the circumference. 



Single Roses 

Now it is time that we turned to the single Koses them- 
selves, and we will begin with R. sericea as it is generally 
the first in flower each season, giving a blossom or two 
early in May, though it continues for a long period, and 
has not altogether ceased flowering in mid-June. It is 
remarkable for, and easily recognised by, its four-petalled 
blossoms, which have the appearance of a Maltese Cross. 
I have seen five-petalled flowers, but very rarely ; and 
so far as I know, this Rose and Potentilla TormentiUa are 
the only two members of the great order Rosaceae, of 
which it is a family tradition to have the flowers with 
their parts arranged in fives, or some multiple of five, 
which have but four petals, like some member of the 
Poppy family. A fine old bush of R. sericea crowns one 
of the mounds on the riverside edge of the oldest portion 
of the rock garden, and in late Summer bears a crop of 
bright scarlet hips, which proclaim by their colour that 
my plant is one of the forms from the Himalayan region, 
as those of later introduction from further eastward bear 
fruits that get no further than orange in ripening, and 
not infrequently remain a deep yellow even at their best. 
My form makes a very picturesque bush if left alone, for, 


Single Roses 

unlike the variety pteracantha, which we cut almost to the 
ground annually for the sake of getting strong growths 
and the large crimson thorns they produce, it is better 
to leave the stems of the type many seasons, that they 
may become furnished with long, arching side-shoots, 
which bear masses of pure white flowers year after year. 
I have a young plant supposed to be a yellow-flowered 
form, but it has not yet flowered and produced its promised 

Not many days after R. sericea has made her d6but 
comes R. altaica and totally eclipses her in beauty, for of 
all the single white Roses of medium height there is none 
with larger flowers or that is more generous in producing 
them during its flowering period. It may be allowed to 
grow into an aged specimen bush of some five feet in height 
by removing the wandering suckers, and cutting out some 
of the older wood now and then after flowering, or else 
may be used as a spreading undergrowth by topping extra 
lanky shoots, and cutting away two-year-old stems and 
allowing the suckers to wander as they please ; in both 
ways it will always produce a charming effect, both when 
covered with its creamy- white flowers, and again when full 
of deep purple-black hips, like large Black-currants. It 
is but a glorified form of our wild Burnet Rose, R. spino- 
sissima, but the finest of that family. Almost as fine is 
R. hispida, its near relative, but it is never so free with 
its flowers here, perhaps because I have only got budded 
specimens of it, more suitable, perhaps, for the rock 
garden, where errant Rose suckers are not pleasant to 
see or handle in the less wild portions ; but I should like 


My Garden in Summer 

a bed in the turf filled with strong, year-old shoots from 
suckers of R. hispida, as I feel sure the wealth of pale 
yellow flowers they would produce would be worth 
looking at. On first opening they are sulphur in colour, 
but soon fade to a creamy white, except towards the 
centre, and half their charm lies in the fleeting nature 
of their yellowness, insomuch that one feels a satisfaction 
in catching them at the right moment to see their prim- 
rose colouring. They are nearly as large as those of 
R. altaica, and none other of the Burnet Roses approaches 
them in this respect, but I have a great affection for 
most of them, from the dwarf native form, with its small, 
cream-coloured flowers, to the double, garden-raised forms 
known as Scotch Briers. They are all best grown on 
their own roots, and are then easy to make use of almost 
anywhere in the garden, but perhaps are never better 
than in broad drifts in the front of beds of taller-growing 
Roses, where they may be left alone for the life of the 
garden with nothing more than an occasional mulch of 
manure, and a certain amount of judicious clearing out 
of the older wood. Even the wild form is worth finding 
room for, though it loses its dwarf habit after a year or 
two in garden ground, and will reach a height of four 
feet if permitted to grow into a specimen bush. I could 
almost believe that Rosa spinosissima represents the first 
attempts of the gods in fashioning the Rose, for its dwarf, 
wild form is a centre from which branch off so many 
different types. Its creamy colour may once have been 
the orthodox yellow of most primitive forms, and, as seen 
in /?. hispida, fades easily to white, following the line of 


Single Roses 

colour development. Grant Allen pointed out in his fas- 
cinating book, The Colours of Flowers, that this was well 
shown forth by the way in which yellow flowers fade to 
white, white often die off pink, and blue flowers so often 
begin life as pink buds. I think the minute Myosotis 
versicolor is the only flower that begins yellow and fades 
gradually through pink to a dull blue, and thus shows in 
itself its whole line of colour descent. I always bring it 
home to the rock garden when I meet it in sandy corn- 
fields ; it sows itself sparingly there, and though so small, 
never fails to interest some during the Summer who 
have not before noticed its changeable hues. Orange, 
leading on to scarlet, I imagine is another line of descent 
from yellow, omitting the white stage, which seems to 
lead on to rosy reds, then purple, and finally blue. 

Many ancient myths declare Roses to have been origi- 
nally white, until dyed by the blood of Venus or Adonis, 
or by a bowl of nectar that careless Cupid upset when 
leading a dance in Olympus, according to the fancy of 
the teller of tales. But even though we may not believe 
any of this, it is a fact that Rosa spinosissim'a varies to 
red, and I have found among the typical white ones 
growing on the Penally Burrows near Tenby striped, 
pink, and deep red forms. I failed to make the scraps 
I grubbed up grow, but I have here a very deep crimson 
form that in all but colour is a regular Burnet Rose. 
R. Alberta is said to be a form from Turkestan, and has 
small, deep-yellow flowers, very charming when you get 
them, but with me they are very sparingly produced, and 
I much prefer the variety ochroleuca, which is one of the 

65 E 

My Garden in Summer 

best dwarf yellow roses, as it is so generous with flowers. 
It is rather difficult to procure on its own roots, however, 
and I daresay would not live long budded, and of course 
so treated could not spread by suckers to form the de- 
lightful colonies natural to the spinosissima group. I 
owe my own-root plants to the generosity of Kew, where 
there is a fine bed in the grass filled with this Rose. 
Something like it, but having more glaucous leaves, and 
an additional three feet of stature, is R. xanfhina, a 
very satisfactory yellow Rose, as may be seen by the 
accompanying illustration of one of my bushes backed by 
the old Yew hedge by the river, I pondered long 
before deciding upon this Rose to fill the important space 
between the stone baluster from Old London Bridge and 
the Yew hedge at the head of one of the flights of steps 
in the terrace garden, but have been thankful I chose it, 
for its blue-green leaves are beautiful for many months, 
and throughout June it is a delightful mass of clear, soft- 
yellow flowers. This fine species comes from the Altai 
Mountains and Northern China, and in spite of a reputa- 
tion for tenderness, has behaved well here in two very 
draughty parts of the garden. I wish I could say the 
same of its much rarer Afghan form, R. Ecae, which has 
had cosy nooks apportioned to it for some five years, 
and in none of them has ever shown a ghost of a flower- 
bud on the wiry little growths that look so promising. 
I long for the flowers, for they are about the size of 
Buttercups, and of almost as deep a yellow. I have 
seen it flowering freely at Warley, and that is not so 
far off but that I may hope to see it do as well here 


Rosa xiinthina. (Sec p. 06.) 

Single Roses 

some day ; and I shall live in hope and expect a due 
reward, unless there is truth in the definition of the car- 
dinal virtues given by the cynical little beast of a school- 
boy that " Faith is belief in what can't happen, Hope is 
belief in what won't happen, and Charity is belief in what 
people say has happened." May my practice of Hope 
soon turn to a chance of the practice of Charity among 
those who listen to my tales of R. Ecae. 

Another good yellow Rose lately arrived in our 
gardens is R. Hugonis from Western China — a fine, free- 
growing bushy species, with small and numerous leaflets 
and flowers a shade paler than those of R. xanthina; but 
best of all single yellow Roses, so far as depth and 
brilliancy of colour goes, is that many times misnamed 
species, the Austrian Brier. From the Crimea to Thibet 
you may meet with it wild, and it is plentiful in Syria, but 
never will you see it adorning the banks of Austrian 
roadsides. It seems now that the law of priority decrees 
that it must be known scientifically under the unpleasant, 
though only too appropriate, name of Rosa foetida, for it 
must be owned that under no name, in spite of any 
amount of poetic licence, would it smell sweet and lose 
its peculiar odour, so much like that of many of the 
hemipterous insects, and especially those known, on 
account of another unfortunate change of name, as Nor- 
folk Howards. I have often wondered what became of 
that luckless Joshua who made so ill-planned a change ; 
did he revert to his first name of Bug, or has he lost 
his notoriety among the Smiths or Joneses, or is he still 
Mr. Norfolk Howard, in spite of the undesired universal 


My Garden in Summer 

change of name for the insect pest as well as for him ? 
The confusion over the name of this Rose seems to be due 
to Linnaeus, who cannot have been much of a specialist in 
Roses, for he has mixed up old synonyms and herbarium 
specimens to such an extent that one feels the whole lot 
should be put into Chancery, with a final appeal to the 
House of Lords, as the only chance of getting their legal 
status fixed. Linnaeus mixed up the Sweet-brier and 
the Austrian Brier, and described the yellow one under 
the name of R. Eglanteria, in the Species Plantarum. In 
his annotated copy, preserved in the library of the Lin- 
naean Society, he erased the synonyms he cites, which 
are all those of the Sweet-brier, and wrote " R. lidea. 
Bauh. Pinax. p. 483," showing he then realised his 
mistake, and wished to connect it with the name cited by 
Bauhin in his Pinax as used by Lobel, Caesalpinus, Came- 
rarius, Tabernaemontanus, Gerard, and other reverend 
fathers in Botany ; but unfortunately this correction must 
have been later than the publication of the Mantissa in 
1 771, in which it is still connected with Eglanteria, so 
that Herrmann's description of it, published in 1762 
under the name foetida, is the first correct one after the 
date at which all botanical nomenclature commences for 
Phanerogams, namely 1753, the date of the publication 
of the first edition of Linnaeus' Species Plantarum. 

I hope those who translate Latin names to make 
English ones for plants will leave this one alone. Under 
its present misleading popular name its nationality is 
misrepresented, but that is better than having the truth 
loudly proclaimed by such a title as the " Stinking Rose." 


Single Roses 

Its leaves, on the other hand, have a pleasant scent 
that would make such a name the more unjust. True 
they need pinching before they reveal the slight Sweet-brier 
nature of their scent, but it is there if wanted. They 
are of a peculiar yellow-green, which is generally suffi- 
ciently marked even in youthful suckers to prevent their 
destruction by anyone who has an eye and brain that 
work together to guide his hoe. Also each leaflet is hol- 
lowed like a spoon on its upper surface, and the marked 
contrast of the curiously deep chocolate brown of the 
bark with the straight, light-coloured prickles ought to be 
enough to save them, for they are precious possessions, 
this Rose not being very lavish with suckers. Perhaps 
this fact accounts for the difficulty of procuring it on its 
own roots, and the common practice of budding it on 
Brier stocks, when the plants mostly grow into lanky, 
thinly-furnished specimens and are not long-lived, but on 
its own roots the old wood being removed makes room 
for tall, straight, basal shoots, that for a year or two 
should produce a shower of gold, and then in their turn 
be carried to the bonfire. I got my best plant of it in 
a curiously roundabout way. A nurse, in the intervals 
of calling to her youthful charge to mind the edge of the 
river and other dangers, told me of an orange-coloured 
Rose that grew like a weed in front of her mother's 
cottage, sending up shoots even in the path. This was 
good news indeed, and I begged for a sucker, and as 
I expected, when three beauties arrived, they were the 
copper-coloured form of the Austrian Brier. That was 
many years ago, but every season since I have blessed 


My Garden in Summer 

her and that country cottage garden when I see the fiery 
orange of her Rose bushes. One I planted in the rock 
garden, and it rewarded me for giving it such an important 
position by reverting suddenly to the yellow form, and 
the suckers that travel to the eastward are all pure gold, 
while the westward colony is of copper. When both are 
in full flower the effect is delightful, and all the more so 
to me for having come as a surprise, 

I am very fond of its double-flowered seedling, said 
to be of American origin, and produced in a garden of 
course, named R. Harrisonii, and from that richly-stored 
Irish garden, Riverston, I have at last got what, I believe, 
to be its very self on its own roots — but I must in justice 
own that Harrisonii makes a very effective standard when 
budded, at least for a certain period. Quite half of my 
most precious Roses have come from Bitton, that sanctuary 
for rare species, where, grown on their own roots, the 
suckers are respected, and allowed to grow to just the right 
size for a lucky visitor to carry away with him. My 
latest treasure from thence is a well-rooted layer of the 
wonderful old Double Yellow Cabbage Rose, the pride 
of so many of the early English gardeners, and the despair 
of so many later ones ; for the various instructions 
for its successful cultivation, writtefi by the great ones of 
the past three centuries, are found upon examination to 
totally contradict each the other — a sure sign that there is 
no royal road to certainty of flowering with this wayward 
beauty. Even if buds should be formed, unless halcyon 
days of full sunshine prevail at the time of their appear- 
ance they will refuse to open. We have given it the 


Single Roses 

south-eastern wall of the orchid house, and anxiously await 

But I have favourites among single Roses that are 
neither yellow nor cream coloured, and a red one has won 
much of my affection ; it is R. Moyesii, comparatively 
new to our gardens, and one of the best results of Wilson's 
wonderful haul of new plants in China. It wants plenty 
of space, and I had to move mine after its first two seasons 
or it would have snatched my hat off or scratched my 
face every time I went by the path it aspired to block up. 
Shoots eight feet high with arching side growths a yard in 
length are what you must allow for, then you can enjoy its 
characteristic, deep-green leaves with numerous leaflets, 
and at flower time its wonderfully glowing blossoms, the 
nearest approach in colour to a carbuncle of any flower 
I know, especially when the evening sunlight assists their 
brightness. Its ample petals are very substantial and fleshy, 
more so than those of any other Rose, and of a peculiar 
leathery texture, and look as though their characters 
would be valuable to the hybridist who wishes to create a 
Rose that will last for a month. It is a near relation of 
R. macrophylla, and like it produces the most sensational 
hips of the family — pendant cone-shaped wonders two or 
more inches long, of brightest sealing-wax red, almost as 
lovely as the flowers. R. macrophylla itself is handsomest 
when in fruit, for the pale pink flowers are rather lacking 
in distinction. R. Malyi, a near relative of R. alpina, is 
a very beautiful, rich-red rose, neat in habit, with dainty 
foliage of small leaflets, and profusely lavish with its annual 
offering of ruby buds and crimson flowers. Alpina itself 


My Garden in Summer 

has never rewarded my hard work on mountain sides when 
trying to extract a sucker with some fibrous roots attached 
from a jumble of stones and tree roots, and nothing to 
do it with but my fingers and a fern-trowel. Now and 
then an especially richly-coloured form has tempted me 
to this labour, but Rose suckers are nasty things to remove 
at Midsummer, even with a good spade and nearer home. 
Its dwarf variety pyrenaica is very happy here, running 
about freely and flowering and fruiting as though it felt it 
could never do enough to please me. 

On the slopes above the Lake of Mont Cenis there is 
a little thicket of dwarf Roses among which grows Anemone 
Halleri, and these two plants apparently are nowhere else 
in that neighbourhood. The Rose looks as though it went 
through hard times with browsing goats or cows, and is 
no more than a foot high, so I fetched it home with me, 
hoping for some particularly interesting dwarf form of 
alpina. After a couple of years of convalescence here it 
made a fresh start in life, sent up the prickliest of imagin- 
able new shoots, and last year flowered ; it is our native 
spinosissima, and might have been brought from Beachy 
Head, instead of 6000 feet up in the Graian Alps. R. 
rubrifolia is another very beautiful species from alpine 
regions, with its curious glaucous leaves shot with purple 
and red shades. It seeds itself about here, and, if room 
is allowed it, a youngster soon makes a good specimen, 
but my form has rather small flowers. I saw some really 
fine forms, a few evidently hybrids, in the woods just 
over the river outside Modane this June. We had to 
spend some hours there between portions of a somewhat 


Single Roses 

roundabout journey, and wandered up to this spot hoping 
to see a particularly fine specimen of Atragene alpina I had 
admired there some years ago; but though there was only 
a week's difference in the dates of my two visits, this early 
season had replaced the blue and white flowers with silky 
seed-heads, and the Roses were in full pride of beauty. It 
seemed to me no two were quite alike, and save for 
ruhrifolia I could not put a name to any. Canina-like 
beauties of purest white and deepest salmon graded off 
into something like glorified Sweet-briers on the one hand 
and to purple-leaved rubrifolias on the other. I wish 
some enterprising rosarian would go there in Autumn and 
take samples of them all. The salmon-red ones came 
very near a beautiful form of canina known as var. 
Andersonii, which I think is one of the most lovely shades 
of pink to be found, so soft and warm, not a trace of blue 
coldness about it. The hybrid called Lady Curzon comes 
near it, but is not so warm in tint, and of a coarser make 
and habit. A fine canina form for a bold effect isolated 
in turf is JR. scabrata. Its arching, free habit shows off the 
multitude of large flowers, which are canina right enough, 
but twice as large and twice as pink as in the type, and if 
it is not too much pruned after flowering, the autumn crop 
of hips is very effective. There is no lack of good single 
Roses suitable for most positions, from those that grow 
into small trees like the last named, to dwarfs like gallica 
pumila, whose height is to be reckoned in inches, and 
Wickuraiana forms that can be used as climbers or for 
carpeting banks ; an irregular grouping of such Roses 
can be made wonderfully effective by using some of the 


My Garden in Summer 

most contrasting forms. I planted a rough belt by the 
side of the carriage drive in this way, covering about a 
dozen high poles with climbing forms to give height, and 
filling in below them with bush and dwarf varieties. White 
and cream-coloured forms were to be massed at one end, 
and the two whitest of all Roses, the double-flowered forms 
of R. rugosa, make the start ; these are the well-known 
Mme. Georges Bruant and Blanche Double de Courbet, 
which, with care, can be grown into good, rounded bushes. 
That rampant Wichuraiana hybrid Gardenia has a pole, 
and performs marvellous gymnastic feats of climbing and 
tumbling all over it, and if old wood is thinned out 
annually and juicy young shoots, as red as a Lenten 
Hellebore and yards in length, are tied in, one is sure of 
a summer cascade of orange-coloured buds and white 
flowers next season. Other poles are covered by a climb- 
ing H.P., Paul's Single White, Miss Jekyll's climbing 
arvensis, a vigorous growing form of the pretty white 
Rose so common in hedges and woodlands of this dis- 
trict, and the Himalayan Musk Rose, R. Brunonii, which 
we must now call R. moschata var. nepalensis if we re- 
member to do so. 

Anyway, whether we honour good Robert Brown in 
this queer latinisation of his name, or recall the native 
country of the Rose in treating it correctly as a variety of 
moschata, it will still be the most ambitious of really hardy 
Roses, and always at the top of the tree so long as it can 
get food for its hungry roots and a tree to clamber upon. 
Once it has fought its way up, and can fling out long 
growths to hang downwards, it begins to show its true 


Single Roses 

use and beauty, and the showers of pure white blossoms 
among the grey-green leaves make one of the best annual 
treats the Roses provide for their owners. It varies in 
the greyness of the foliage, and I much prefer the greyest 
form. I have one, beautifully silvery in leaf, that has 
fought its way up an old Yew in the Iris beds, and at all 
seasons the contrast of sombre Yew shoots and grey-blue 
Rose sprays is delightful. The form on the pole in the 
Rose tangle by the drive, however, is a very ordinary sort 
of green as to leaf, which does not matter much there, as 
R. Fedtschenkoana rambles all round its long legs and 
shoots up six feet high with prickly red stems and elegant 
grey leaves. 

After this group of sky-scrapers, the Giraffes of the 
Rose world, the bed holds lowlier cattle, and among them 
altaica, sericea, and all the forms of Scotch Roses that 
I could get hold of at the time the bed was planted, that 
were either white or yellow. They have been left to run 
into one another pretty much as they like, and have made 
a dwarf thicket, out of which R. xanthina towers at one 
end and Lady Penzance Sweet-brier at the other. I want 
the Copper Austrian to do so too beside Lady Penzance, 
but have not been able to induce it to as yet. Then, as 
we reach the upper end of the bed, the yellow colouring 
is replaced by pink, and at the back corner shades to 
crimson, where Carmine Pillar covers a tall pole and 
Maharajah a low one, surrounded by bushes of rubrifolia, 
the shining-leaved lucida, the glaucous hibernica, the free- 
flowering hybrid of humilis and rugosa, and the neat 
growing nitida, to bring the level down to some dwarf 


My Garden in Summer 

gaUica forms, out of which rise two of the Irish Singles, 
Irish Glory and Irish Beauty, this last and a fine pillar 
of Wickuraiana Jersey Beauty being the only white- 
flowered forms at this end of the bed. It has always 
been a very satisfactory and attractive bed since its first 
year of planting, now a dozen or more ago, and is the 
one that I have mentioned in the Spring volume as 
gradually laying down its own blue carpet of Scilla and 
Chionodoxa. Now it is striking out another line for 
itself in starting all unasked a colony of the Welsh Poppy, 
and I can't make up my mind yet as to whether I will 
scratch my face next Spring and root them out, or, if I 
let them go further, they will interfere with the health and 
happiness of the Scillas. A good undertone of yellow and 
orange Meconopsis would look charming under white 
Roses, but Fate has unkindly decreed that the colony 
should start nearest the end given to pink ones. I must 
look at them critically another season, and if they are too 
yellow I will don a fencing mask, and so try to avoid 
scratches while 1 evict them. 

I have no great affection for Rambler Roses, perhaps 
because I see so many over arches and rustic poles as 
I journey up to London by the Great Eastern Railway. 
Until the nearness to town turns the back garden into a 
mere yard, each one has a Crimson Rambler, pink or 
white Dorothy Perkins, a Hiawatha or Lady Gay, or the 
whole set if near this end of the line, and it is a relief to 
see now and then a practical-minded householder's garden 
given over to the utilitarian cultivation of Scarlet Runners 
on strings, their pure scarlet blossoms a joy to the eye 


Single Roses 

surfeited with colours that have had such a narrow squeak 
to just avoid being classed as magenta. 

I make an exception for Blush Rambler, though, whose 
colour is charmingly soft, and the single flowers have such 
a wise way of shedding their petals the moment they feel 
themselves growing old and ugly, so that the large bunches 
of flowers look fresh and clean from first to last. 

The rose-covered posts in my so-called pergola sup- 
port some very old Roses instead of the newest. I write 
so-called, as my double row of posts for climbers cannot 
really claim to be a pergola, and only a few of the 
climbers are allowed to reach overhead from one cross- 
piece to its vis-a-vis, as in this flat garden, short of climbing 
a tree or having a captive balloon ready for short ascents, 
one would never get a chance of seeing the outside of its 
roof where the flowers would be, and I do not see the 
fun of planning floral displays for dicky birds or angels, 
and our proximity to Enfield Lock and Waltham and 
their Government works for warlike goods, places us in a 
prohibited area for aeroplanes. 

The rose-coloured Wistaria muUijuga before mentioned 
I am encouraging to roof in the walk, for its yard-long 
racemes of flowers show well hanging overhead, and in 
an old Rose called Adelaide d'Orl6ans that I got from a 
Norfolk garden I have another plant suitable for the same 
purpose. It is one of a set of seedlings raised by M. 
Jacques when head gardener at Chateau Neuilly to the 
Due d'Orl6ans, who afterwards became King Louis 
Philippe. R. sempervirens was the species he used as 
seed parent, and the best known of his creations is Felicite' 


My Garden in Summer 

Perp6tue, which covers the post opposite the Wistaria, 
and is a wonderful sight when in flower, but too well 
known to need any description here ; however, its elder 
sister, Adelaide d'Orl6ans, who first saw the light in 1826, 
two years earlier than F61icit6, seems to be very little 
known. It makes enormous growths when well estab- 
lished, and they are so pleasantly slender that they can be 
bent or trained any way or anywhere ; the bunches of 
flowers appear in the latter part of June on long, slender 
stalks, so that they hang down most gracefully, and if the 
shoots of last Summer are tied in so as to form a roof over 
the pergola you can look up into the faces of the flesh- 
pink flowers, and they almost seem to smile back at you, 
as a bevy of cherubs might if they liked you. By shortening 
a few growths so that they wave free for a yard or two on 
the outer side of the supporting post quite a different effect 
is obtained, and there you will have a fine mass of flower- 
heads almost hiding the leaves. Adelaide is also very 
beautiful if allowed to ramble into some small tree ; I 
have seen her thus in another Norfolk garden, but have 
not yet imitated that effect, as I have the hanging fringe 
on the pergola of the first garden in which I met her and 
fell in love with her at first sight. 

One occasionally sees some delightful old pink climb- 
ing Roses in gardens in Devonshire and Ireland, that 
bear great trusses of flowers, and no sooner has one crop 
shed its petals than a mass of green buds will push up 
to take its turn. They appear to be garden hybrids, and 
closely related to Rosa Pissartii (often spelt Pissardii but 
named after Pissart, gardener to one of the Shahs of 


Single Roses 

Persia), and which in Miss Willmott's monograph becomes 
a variety of moschata with the name nasturana. These 
pink forms are semi-double, very sweetly scented, and 
quite charming for clothing a pillar or post. The true 
R. moschata var. nasturana ' is only touched with pink in 
bud and opens pure white, and is another very useful 
and beautiful Rose. I have tried a few of the newer 
pillar-roses, and I think Trier and Fairy will long possess 
the posts I have allotted them. Their dainty white flowers 
are delightful, and Fairy is as perpetual as any white Rose 
I have seen. When newly opened the effect of its golden 
ring of stamens against the pure white petals makes it 
look like a miniature copy of R. bracteata, which, if only 
it were a shade hardier and began to flower earlier in 
the season, would be the finest of white Roses. As 
it is, however, I love it dearly, and it grows on one of 
the four buttresses, or whatever is the right name for the 
legs of the old Market Cross. It has the warmest one, 
that which faces most to the south, and yet suffers badly 
in cold winters, and really needs a south wall and perhaps 
a blanket during sharp frost. It is sad to see its glorious, 
shining, should-be evergreen leaves turn black and then 
fall in bad seasons, but when they struggle through and 
keep green till Spring, I know there will be a good show 
of the firm-textured white flowers with their rich golden 
centres later on. If only one could put such a centre 
into the new single white tea. Simplicity ! 

Another new Rose with a pillar-clothing reputation is 
Ariel. I am delighted with its curious scent, so much 
like the leaves of Sweet-brier, but I am not so greatly 


My Garden in Summer 

enamoured of its shade of pink. Joseph Billiard has as 
handsome leaves as one could wish, and grows like Jack's 
Beanstalk, so rapidly do fat, fleshy shoots spring up from 
the base. You look at a lo-inch-Iong one on Monday, 
and say, " Next week I will tie you in to take the place of 
older wood." On Tuesday you do not pass that way, and 
on Wednesday as you go by in the dusk that shoot 
scratches your nose, and you have to tie it back to a 
neighbour of last year's growth on Thursday. On Friday 
you go away for the week-end, and when you next see 
your Rose this shoot has shot through the topmost 
growth of last year, has made a great arch of itself, and 
is reaching down to have another snatch at your nose ; 
when you go to bend it up to a cross-bar it goes snap 
in the middle, but a few days later it starts into side shoots 
all the way up. If caught young and trained as they 
should go these shoots cover a great amount of space 
very effectively and glossily. When first I saw the flowers 
I thought them lovely with their sharp contrast of rosy 
crimson petals and lemon-yellow eye after the style of 
that of a Lady Penzance Sweet-brier, but now I find you 
must look at half-opened blossoms only, for their pink 
turns sour in a few hours and proclaims itself a cousin 
of magenta, and sets one's eye on edge like rhubarb tart 
does one's teeth. I want a tame fairy to live in the 
Joseph Billiard bower during flowering time to pick off 
every blossom as it turns the corner from warm pink to 
the hue of weak Condy's Fluid. 

Although I am not hospitable towards Ramblers I 
cherish their original parent, R. multiflora, which has been 


SiirniMcr in llie l-'lowt-i' I'.ai'ilen. l!v A. h'liirfusc Miirklew 

Single Roses 

so well named the Bramble Rose. Our specimen was a 
come-by-chance, in fact a stock that shot up and smothered 
out its scion, and as it was not badly placed we have 
given it a succession of ever-heightening supports until 
it owns the greater portion of a felled tree, and we feel 
we must now rest contented. It is a fine sight some 
seasons, depending mostly, I think, on the attention it has 
received in the previous Summer and Autumn in the way 
of the removal of old wood, a judicious thinning and 
shortening of some new shoots, and tying in others full 
length. The plant well repays such work when it is 
covered by the cloud of its wee, bramble-like flowers, 
each of which might be covered by a sixpence. 

Another small-flowered, but for all that mightily 
effective. Rose is the little-grown R. SouUeana — a very 
close relation of moschata, though, unlike most of the 
moschata forms, SouUeana is no climber, but a veritable 
tree on its own account. 

I got my plant from Spaeth of Berlin, and in its first 
season it gave me the impression that I had wasted pelf 
on its carriage, for it looked a mere ordinary Brier and 
made no attempt to flower. Next season it shot out the 
most surprising growth I had ever seen a Rose achieve — 
as thick as my thumb, armed with prickles large and 
ferocious-looking enough for the jaws of a shark, and 
soaring up in such a hurry that it soon reached a height 
of eight feet, and looked as though it had no relationship 
with the two feet of older scraggy growth sitting at its 
base. The following season it clothed itself with side 
shoots, and they again took up another Summer to ramify 

8i F 

My Garden in Summer 

and build up a handsome tree ; but all that time never a 
sign of a flower-bud appeared, and we began to wonder 
whether this ten feet by six of prickles and grey-green 
leaves was paying us enough rent for its plot of ground. 
Then in the fifth year, it was ready to make a return for 
our patience, and every shoot burst out into great bunches 
of buds, and for several weeks, covering a much longer 
period than moschata nepalensis can achieve, it was one 
splendid bouquet of pendant bunches of pure white roses, 
smaller than those of nepalensis, but I feel certain much 
larger than those of the plate in Miss Wilmott's book. A 
great number of them turned to hips, and till late in the 
Winter it was a beautiful and interesting sight, for its hips 
are of a bright orange colour that is very striking when 
seen in the sunlight. 

The true and rare old Musk Rose exists here, but in 
a juvenile state at present, for it is not many years since 
I brought it as cuttings from the splendid old specimen on 
The Grange at Bitton, and 1 must not expect its deliciously 
scented, late-in-the-season flowers before it has scrambled 
up its wall space. 

I must mention other Roses only briefly, or this 
chapter will rival R. SouUeana in monopolising space, so 
of R. anemonaeflora I will only say it scrambles about on 
the trellised wall with no special care, and its long, narrow 
leaflets and white flowers, so like double Anemone nemorosa, 
surprise many people who have overlooked its charms when 
planting their Roses. A white-flowered form of R. Seraph- 
inii has the neatest white thorns of any Rose I possess. 
A hybrid of rugosa and foliolosa bears large, soft, pink 


Single Roses 

flowers with a wonderfully beautiful white eye that gives 
a delightful finish to their good looks, but they are shy 
about opening out flat and showing it to full advantage 
except in hours of full sunlight. R. foUolosa itself is a 
pretty, light-habited, lowly plant with cheerful, pink flowers, 
useful to let run about as it will in spaces between large 
shrubs, and a good thing to use in the same way is the 
Ash-leaved Rose R. fraxinifolia, now reckoned a variety 
of R. blanda. 

R. myriacantha, almost a spinosissima, is distinct 
enough to be worth a place for its pretty, white flowers, 
and as its name implies, singularly well-armed stems. Of 
R. Webbiana I have only got the variegated form, a dainty 
little creature, whose young shoots have more of white 
and pink in them than of green, but it is none too hardy 
here, and does best in a sheltered corner of the rock 
garden. It has long been a puzzle what Rose this was 
a variegated form of, and it has been assigned to both 
Wichuraiana and Beggeriana, widely differing species. The 
latter is a rough-growing bush with rather small flowers. 
I won't go so far as to destroy my specimen now it is 
well established, but should it die I should not replace it 
with another R. Beggeriana. Other bush-forming species 
that I cherish more fondly are R. nutkana, a good, late- 
flowering, pink one ; Woodsii, a graceful grower with 
small pink flowers ; Dupontii, which is the newly author- 
ised name for the moschata and gallica hybrid we have so 
long known as nivea, a sweetly-scented, free-growing Rose 
with large, flat, white flowers, generally slightly edged and 
flushed with pink ; the single white rugosa, and its very 


My Garden in Summer 

beautiful weeping seedling variety. I have this last budded 
as a half standard ; it stands on a sloping bank edging 
a lawn, and has made a wonderful tangle of long, inter- 
twined growths, that would sweep half way across the 
lawn if we did not cut off their tips or turn them back 
into the general entanglement. Its flowers are of a 
singularly pleasing, starry form, and cover the whole 
plant for a few weeks, but they never turn to hips here. 
I believe because it has some Wichuraiana blood in it, 
and the plant is a sterile hybrid. If I had a cliff face that 
could be spared for it, I should like to drape a good 
stretch of it with a hanging curtain of this fine Rose. 

R. microphylla rarely flowers here, but I have only 
got the double form. When flowers do appear I like 
their curiously prickly calyx; but of course I never get 
the still more interesting hips that look more like Sweet 
Chestnuts than Rose hips. Carmine Pillar is too well 
known to need description here, but I seldom see it 
treated as it deserves or allowed enough space to go 
as far afield as it can. I planted one at the foot of 
an old leaning Laburnum, and it smothered it from top 
to toe, and I rather expect helped to bring about its 
downfall in a gale that treated the garden like a game of 
ninepins. A tall Yew was another of its victims, so we 
replaced the Laburnum by the Yew trunk sunk for about 
two feet and set in concrete, and had a fine scratchy day's 
work disentangling the Rose from its old consort and 
wedding it to the new ; but in spite of its apparent resist- 
ance it has settled down happily, and is a gorgeous sight 
at the end of May and beginning of June, with its long 


Single Roses 

arms flung all over the second husband and bearing 
hundreds of crimson flowers. R. laevigata Anemone was 
much later in flowering this season than is usually the case, 
not making much of a show until mid-June. It has taken 
possession of the old displaced Enfield Market Cross, which 
now spends its old age in the centre of the Rose garden, 
and now that its long shoots have climbed up among the 
pinnacles it requires very little attention, just a light thin- 
ning of old wood in late Summer and a tying in of a few 
of the wildest and longest of last year's shoots in early 
Spring. It must be hardier than was at first believed, for 
it hangs out through the little arches and behind the 
crockets on all sides, and the growths on the east and 
north sides flower just as happily as those on the south, 
and I do not believe there can be a plant that would look 
better against the grey stone than this Anemone Rose with 
its exquisitely shaded soft pink flowers as large as one 
could wish any Rose to be, to still look real, and not a 
part of the wings in the transformation scene of a panto- 
mime ; I think if I had another Market Cross to clothe 
I should arrange for it to wear another R. laevigata Ane- 
mone. I have given up one of the pillars and bays of the 
trellis by the terrace to another plant of it, and it is filling 
its space well, and I hope will soon rival its elder sister on 
the Market Cross. The real laevigata, I fear, will never 
give a like display of its glorious white flowers here, for it 
gets the vegetable equivalents of asthma and rheumatics 
every Winter, and is only convalescent by the end of 
Summer, just in time to make a growth or two that will be 
afflicted with similar lung and limb troubles with the advent 


My Garden in Summer 

of Winter. There is a legend of a much hardier form 
that comes from Northern Japan, but I have not been 
able to get hold of that plant to replace my poor invalid. 
There still remains one of the most fascinating groups 
untouched, the class that is composed of families bearing 
the names of China, Bengal, Monthly, Tea-scented, and 
Fairy Roses, and includes also even those distinct person- 
alities the Willow-leaved and Green Roses. Their Latin 
names are more numerous still, and as no two authors 
seem to agree as to which is which, it is hard to settle 
upon a chieftain to head the clan. It seems to me that 
until someone will bring us the living wild plant from the 
mysterious East, we had better enjoy growing those we 
have, and leave them without a lord-paramount. As far 
as I can see, unless the single, crimson-flowered plant 
known as Miss Lowe's Rosa indica is a wild form, we 
have nothing in cultivation but garden forms, as has so 
frequently happened with other plants brought from 
China. The Willmottian monograph declares the correct 
title for the chieftain will be Rosa chinensis. So as it is 
better to be out of the world than out of the fashion, we 
must call them the China Roses, anj^way until that index 
volume comes, which may be before these pages are finally 
corrected in the revised proofs, and I may have to substitute 
the title indica ^ at the last moment. I was taught so early 
in my gardening career that the single crimson was the 
wild parent of all the Chinas that I find it hard to re- 
nounce this creed. Moreover, I do not feel one bit con- 
vinced that the " large climbing shrub armed with brown, 

' No, it must still be chitunsis. 


Single Roses 

scattered, hooked prickles," and bearing solitary flowers, 
of which Dr. Henry collected dried specimens in the 
glens near Ichang in Central China, has much to do with 
our cultivated Chinas with such neat habits and large 
panicles of flowers, although I must own Redout6 figures 
and describes many itidica forms with solitary flowers. 

I have had all the books of authority on Roses that I 
possess open before me, and have tried to find out which 
of my growing plants of what I call indica forms any two 
of them have a common name for, but I give it up. It 
reminds me of the days when I was working for my degree 
and studying the Psalms. At first I was full of enthusiasm 
to get at the real inner meaning of certain cryptic words, 
and would prepare my table like a painter does his 
palette, but with books for paints : the original Hebrew 
on my left, above it the Septuagint, followed by the Vul- 
gate, the Authorised and Revised Versions of the Bible, and 
lastly the Prayer-book. The Hebrew word-root of three 
letters might be fairly generic in meaning — say, " to move "; 
the Septuagint's Greek equivalent would be no nearer than 
a substantive signifying " a bird " (of course I am inventing 
an instance, but hardly exaggerating), the Latin might be 
translated as "sheepfold," the Authorised Version would 
give us " consolation," and the Prayer-book, perhaps, " ob- 
lations." Such verses are not frequent, thank goodness ; 
but they exist, and after struggling with a few I memorised 
the various words and left the meaning alone — quite revers- 
ing the Duchess' moral advice to Alice, " Take care of the 
sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves." Now 
I treasure in the garden a very beautiful single Rose, of 


My Garden in Summer 

soft cream colouring, flushed at the edges of its large 
petals with the rosy pink of some sea-shell. I was taught 
by Canon Ellacombe to regard it as the parent of the 
Tea-scented Roses, and to call it R. indica fragrans. It 
appears in the great monograph glorified by the possession 
of a brand-new name, as though it had been raised to the 
peerage or canonised, as R. chinensis grandiflora. Then 
arises the question. Can we connect this lovely Rose with 
the two single forms, a yellow and a pink, which when 
wedded in France produced the Tea-scented Roses of 
gardens ? In comparing authorities and plates in order 
to get clear evidence, I find myself as much bafBed now 
as erstwhile among the Psalm puzzles, and I do not think 
the lovely salmon-coloured one figured by Redoute and 
called R. indica fragrans /lore simplid is meant for my 

The single crimson finds no mention in the great new 
monograph, in spite of its lovely portrait drawn by Redout6, 
and I regard this as a slight upon my favourite, which was 
one of the most precious of the many plant treasures that 
made up the first armful of plants that kind Dr. Lowe of 
Wimbledon gave me from his rich store of varieties. 
Introduced to him by letter, I was rather nervous of my 
first visit to the man who knew so much, who had made 
his collection of British Lepidoptera so complete that 
when over sixty he started to study and to collect Coleop- 
tera, that is to say, Beetles — but not those that the cook 
called Beadles ; and I love that silly story so well, you 
must please let me tell it in case you like silly stories too. 
" I can't stop 'ere, mum," said the new cook ; " the 


Single Roses 

kitchen's that full of Beadles." And the prim Missis 
replied, " Anyway, cook, you should spell the word with a 
T." And the surprised domestic gasped, " Lor, mum, I 
never 'card 'em called Teadles before." But Dr. Lowe 
never collected those, though he soon made many notable 
captures and discoveries among the true beetles. 

In spite of his deep learning, before we had been 
together in his garden for five minutes I felt I had known 
him all my life, and he began filling a basket for me with 
plants that were utter strangers to me. This Rose was 
one of them, and he told me he had grown it for many 
years, and it had quite disappeared from other gardens, 
even on the Continent ; and when some account of his 
plant was published in one of the gardening papers, letters 
arrived from all quarters asking him for cuttings. I 
carried away with me two cuttings that April morning ; 
they were rooted in a pot in a vinery, and that Summer 
they found homes in the garden ; the big old bush in 
the rock garden is one of them, and after twenty years of 
faithful service, which, sounding too much like an obituary 
notice, shall be altered to a score of flowering seasons of 
six months each, is as flourishing as ever. The moral of 
that is, grow it on its own roots from a cutting, then from 
May to December one is sure to find flowers and buds on 
it as rich in colour as pigeon's-blood rubies ; yet I see it 
in very few gardens. 

Another old stager is a bush of the Fairy Rose, R. 
chinensis var. minima, the double pink form. It too was 
planted in the rock garden twenty years ago, and still only 
asks to have an annual Spring cleaning of old wood, if I 


My Garden in Summer 

have omitted to clear it out in the previous August, which 
is the better season for the job, as it allows the young 
growths to ripen for next Summer's work. The crimson 
form grows in the pergola garden among other Roses such 
as R. fraxininifolia, and is rather buried up there, but 
flowers away with a good heart. 

The Green Rose, R. chinensis viridiflora, is but little 
grown, yet it is very interesting as one of the most 
perfect illustrations of phyllody of petals, for every one of 
its many rows of them has become as green and firm in 
texture as its leaves. I greatly like its shapely emerald 
green buds for cutting to arrange w^ith other Roses whose 
own are too precious to nip in the bud, and would not be 
half so elegant and attractive, for the Green Rose manages 
to make the most of its one charm, and the buds open 
very slowly, and remain a long while in the first stage of 
expansion, showing plenty of the green surface of the 
transformed petals between the sepals. When fully open 
they turn a dingy olive with dull purple streaks here and 
there ; they are no longer beautiful, but are eagerly sought 
after as button-holes by my Sunday-school boys in their 
Sunday afternoon visits to the garden. A cousin who 
admires the Green Rose carried off a young plant, and 
asked her old gardener, " Did you ever see a Green 
Rose ? " " Noa, miss, nor a blew one neether," was his 
incredulous reply ; but the baby Green Rose behaved well, 
and widened his mind later on. Like other Chinas, it 
seems to wish to flower all the year round, and had many 
bunches of sound buds at Christmas in 1913. 

"The Cinderella of the Roses," Mr. Gumbleton used 


Single Roses 

to say, waving the umbrella, which in all weathers accom- 
panied his garden rambles, over the head of JR. Watsoniana. 
Its flowers would almost justify its being called one of the 
ugly sisters, for they are crumpled little messes of a bad 
shade of pink, almost as small and uninteresting as those 
borne by some of the dreadful new brambles from China. 
But in its long, slender growths and curiously narrow 
leaves R. Watsoniana possesses a saving grace ; when 
flinging long shoots of lacy greenery over a boulder in 
the rock garden it is quite attractive, and if budded as a 
standard makes a peculiar and interesting feature among 
more ordinary-looking plants. R. gymnocarpa I fear is 
beyond all hope of transformation by a Fairy Godmother, 
and doomed to remain the other ugly sister for all time, 
for it bears dingy-red flowers the size of a threepenny bit 
that might be considered handsome for a Cotoneaster, but 
will not pass muster for a Rose. I will not say I have 
exhausted the list of the Roses of the garden, but I have 
my patience for recalling their tricks and manners, but not 
necessarily yours, my reader, for before this happens you 
can always sleep or close the book, or skip to another 




My interest in Geraniums dates from the day when as a 
small boy in a sailor suit I gathered a bunch of the 
Pencilled Crane's-bill, G. striatum, in a lane near Paignton, 
and carried them to be named by my great-aunt, who 
was at once the central attraction and cause of our visit 
to South Devon, and the representative of all botanical 
lore to my young mind. 

I owe so much to this delightfully clever and generous 
Nature-lover that I cannot resist this opportunity of paying 
a tribute of gratitude to her memory. Mrs. Solly, my 
great-aunt Cornelia, had spent many years in India, and 
could tell tales and show wonderful drawings of plants 
and butterflies from " The Jungle " to the eager questioning 
child ; but above all I recall happy sunny mornings passed 
with her in that wonderful Devonshire garden. I expect 
it was very small, but it seemed to me to contain every- 
thing worth growing, and I still believe its double Ranun- 
culuses and Sparaxis and Ixias were the finest I have 
ever seen. Dear kind soul ! how I hope there are sweet 
flowers in plenty round your feet in Paradise. She soon 
named my treasure, told me of its rarity, and advised my 
digging up a plant to take home, and showed me other 
Geranium species in her garden, and especially G. pratense 



from Gloucestershire meadows, of which two seedlings 
were marked for me, and at the end of our visit accom- 
panied G. striatum and me to my own garden here. Both 
species still survive from those two stocks, pratense almost 
too plentifully on a wild bank near the rock garden, 
which it would monopolise were it permitted its own way. 
The crowd of blue blossoms is delightful in July, and I 
always enjoy the long line of blue snow that lies on the 
path under them from late afternoon till next day's hot 
sun withers the fallen petals, and melts away the snow 
effect. This particular race has never varied at all, and 
of all the hundreds of seedlings that have appeared on 
that bank any one might have been a division from the 
original plant, but in other parts of the garden there are 
colonies of pratense forms of which it is hard to find any 
two exactly alike. For I soon learned to love Geraniums 
and collected them assiduously, which, however, I am 
afraid is too mild a word for my methods, and such as 
Miss Prim might substitute, in correcting little Amelia's 
exercise, for greedily or grabbingly, which come nearer 
the mark. Anyway I have got hold of a good many, and 
many good, some only pretty good, but none wholly bad 
in my eyes. Why do I like them so much ? Let me 
think. Firstly, because of their name. Geranion is the old 
Greek name used by Dioscorides, and derived from geranos, 
a crane, because of the likeness of the unripe seed-vessels 
to the head and beak of that bird. Tournefort, and after 
him Linnaeus, used it to include the plants afterwards 
placed in two separate genera by L'heritier, who seems 
to have invented the nanie of Erodium, from erodios, a 


My Garden in Summer 

heron, for the one, while for the other he adopted the 
name Pelargonium, from pelargos, a stork, first proposed 
by Dillenius in the Hortus EUhamensis in 1732, be- 
cause as he says Geraniums were called Stork-schnabel in 

Knuth in Das Pflanzenreich states that Burman gave 
the genus this name, but a reference to the passage reveals 
the fact that in the Plantarum Africanarum, published in 
1738, Burman quoted from Dillenius. 

But Gerard tells us of the names Rostrum Gruis and 
Rostrum Ciconiae being used for some kinds, and also 
gives Stork's-bill and Heron's-bill, as well as Crane's-bill, 
and Pincke-needle as English names in use in 1597. It 
is a pity, though, that L'heritier's lead has not been 
followed by ordinary gardeners as well as by botanists, 
^nd that Pelargoniums or Stork's-bills are still spoken of 
as Geraniums, for with many folk the mention of a blue 
Geranium only causes them to class you with Ananias. 
Secondly, there are so many old books in which the 
Geranium family has been beautifully portrayed, and these 
have stirred me up to try and grow the living originals 
of the portraits. L'heritier's old folio, with its magnificent 
copper-plates, is chiefly devoted to Erodiums and Pelar- 
goniums, and only finds space for five true Geraniums, 
but Sweet's Geraniaceae is rich in lovely figures of them, 
and is one of the most beautifully illustrated of the fine 
books of that period, so rich in the production of exqui- 
sitely drawn and coloured flower portraits. The Botanical 
Magazine and Andrews' Geraniaceae also served to inflame 
my zeal for this family. Thirdly, I found they were 



favourites with those who first guided my gardening 
instincts, and gave me what, for want of a better word, 
I can only express by the term un-nurserymen's plants ; 
and, lastly, they took to me and my gardening as much 
as I did to them, and I find many of them invaluable for 
filling half-shaded positions with at least ten, if not the 
full twelve, months of beauty and interest. The leaves 
of many are good throughout the Winter, whether last 
season's turning russet and even scarlet at times, or next 
season's newly appeared. I reckon the gems of the 
family are the alpine forms that must live in the rock 
garden, and G. argenteum deserves the first place, for the 
sake of its silvery leaves that add such value to its general 
effect, and set off the delicate pink flowers, with their 
fine tracery of crimson veins. To assure success with 
this plant, I find it must be treated as Dr. Johnson 
declared necessary with a Scotchman, and be caught 
young. If raised from seed and planted out in a rocky 
crevice, or even the granite chip moraine, they prove as 
obliging as I could wish, but middle-aged plants are bad 
to meddle with, and even if they do eventually recover 
from the fits of sulks and tantrums induced by an up- 
heaval, it is slow work. G. cinereum and its variety sub- 
caulescens I find more obliging, and knobby portions of 
elderly stems may be torn off in Spring and planted as 
though they were youngsters, and will root and behave 
most decorously. I have lost a reputed hybrid called 
G. intermedium, but I know why, and must get it again 
and treat it better this time and not allow it to become 
overgrown by Arenaria balearica and Moltkea petraea as 


My Garden in Summer 

I did the original poor sufferer. The pure white form oi 
cinereum is a very lovely thing, and is getting about the 
gardening world fairly rapidly now, but I very seldom 
see or hear of G. Wehbianum, and it finds no mention in 
Knuth's new monograph. With the habit of argenteum, 
but not quite so silvery in the leaf, it bears white blos- 
soms, charmingly veined with a purple that is almost 
black. I am afraid it is not so hardy as the others, as 
it has too often perished here in Winter, but a seed or 
two can generally be gathered from a healthy plant to 
provide successors. 

Next precious for the rock garden and choice positions 
comes the dwarf and soft rose-coloured G. sanguineum var. 
lancastriense, so curiously restricted in its range as a wild 
plant, and only found on Walney Island. I think Knutb 
is a little unkind to it in sinking it as a synonym of san- 
gwinewm var. prostratum, which I have always imagined to 
be the close-growing form I have found wild on cliffs 
between Filey and Flamborough Head, and again in 
Devonshire all about Prawle Point, and is the form gener- 
ally cultivated in English gardens. It is quite different 
in habit from the lanky, leggy fellow I have seen in 
the Alps, and which settled a doubt that had till then 
lingered in my mind as to the legitimacy of the title san- 
guineum album for the beautiful white form that is grown 
in gardens. The slender stem, with a weak habit, in- 
ducing it to take advantage of a neighbouring plant for 
support, that I noticed was typical of the Bloody Crane's- 
bill of Austrian hillsides, reminded me at once of the 
scrambling white-ffowered tangle of my rock garden, and 



I feel fairly certain it must have been among such spidery- 
legged members of the family that the albino first appeared. 
But lancastriense is so distinct, not only in possessing a 
dwarfer, closer habit than even var. prostratum, but in the 
deUciously soft salmon rose of its flowers, that it well 
deserves a varietal title at least, even if its habit of coming 
perfectly true from seed taken with its isolated habitat would 
not permit the rank of a sub-species. 

One hot July day, when I was staying with Mr. Robin- 
son at Gravetye, I watched the seeds of G. lancastriense 
being shot out, catapult fashion, by the drying and recur- 
ving slings formed by the beaks of the carpels, and as they 
were easy to collect from the grey flag-stones on to which 
they were falling, I gathered a little pinch to pocket and 
carry off home to imitate the charming effect my host had 
achieved by using it as an edging to one of his beds, the 
rosy flowers looking especially lovely against the grey 
stones, and its tufty habit being just right for the posi- 
tion. Every seed germinated, and now I have a Geranium 
edging here in the enclosed garden that looks very well by 
the side of one of my paved paths ; but our sparrows or 
mice have found out that the nearly ripe seeds are worth 
pilfering, and at times clear off the whole crop. I have 
a very strong-growing, large form of G. sanguineum, that 
came to me with the utterly ridiculous name of G. nepal- 
ense, which belongs to a species so small flowered, even 
when portrayed by Sweet, that even my catholic love for 
Geraniums has never led me to try to obtain it. 

This large sanguineum is a handsome plant, especially if 
grown in partial shade, when its flowers come larger and 

97 G 

My Garden in Summer 

of a slightly less vicious type of crimson than when grown 
in the open. It must be confessed the family inherits a 
pernicious habit of daunting that awful form of floral 
original sin, magenta, and rejoicing in its iniquity. The 
magnificent black eye of G. armenum, which Knuth 
declares we must call G. psilostemon, saves it from being 
one of the worst astringents of the vision in theNvhole 
garden, but such a colour reacts on my retina much as alum 
does on my tongue. G. sylvaticum in some forms comes 
perilously near a similar shade, but almost any alpine 
meadow where this Geranium occurs will provide a choice 
of shades, and the richer purples with large, white eyes are 
well worth uprooting to bring home ; I have thus acquired 
some really spectable forms, to air a good old English 
adjective too long laid on the shelf. That is the worst of 
writing so much on one subject, suitable adjectives fail to 
answer to one's desire for variety — so henceforth expect 
a few strange-sounding ones till Charming, Pleasant and 
Co. have had a rest cure. There is no need to grow ugly 
forms of our native Wood Crane's-bill, for there is a per- 
fectly alabastrine (poor brain-fagged " snowy " is in a Wim- 
pole Street Nursing Home ; no letters or visitors permitted) 
form that flowers in late June and July as well as the flesh- 
pink form I cracked up so highly for the Spring garden. 
Knuth wants us to believe that G, angulattim, so well 
figured in the Bot. Mag. in 1793, is only G. sylvaticum. 
You have noticed by this time I am a little peevish over 
Knuth and his goings on in this new volume, and I resent 
the slight to my well-loved angulatum, and its four-shilling- 
piece sized flowers, in his not even allowing it varietal rank, 



as he has done for the rubescent (" rosy " is laid up now) 
pink form which is variety Wanneri, G. angulatum is a 
garden treasure, though, and one of those plants that will 
sit amiably in the same place for a dozen years. G. palus- 
tre is very rare in cultivation, and does not vary in colour 
so far as I know, so that I am proud of possessing it at all 
in spite of its spiteful hue. It came to me under an alias 
that I have forgotten long ago, but is unmistakable if one 
has ever seen Sweet's plate, and I have been delighted at 
being able to return the true plant to most of our Botanic 
Gardens for the various other species they had at times 
given me under its name, but it is a sprawling-habited 
creature, and not to be desired by the ordinary gardener. 

When Crane's-bills turn their efforts towards blue 
flowers they are hard to beat, and here at the head of 
the line I rank G. grandiflorum of gardens, whatever it 
really is botanically, for it is almost ultramarine blue in 
colour, and only not quite so, on account of the crimson 
veins that run into the blue portion, and meet in the 
centre to form a red-purple eye, and this glorious colour- 
ing does not agree with the lilac flowers botanical descrip- 
tions assign to the true grandiflorum of Edgeworth — which 
I have never seen. 

Max Leichtlin raised this fine blue one from seeds sent 
from Sikkim, and, like so many other good plants, it made 
its first appearance in England at Warley. Its dwarf 
habit, long period of flowering, easy increase both by seed 
and root division, have brought it into most gardens by 
now, and it is a good plant for a bold edging to a bed for 
herbaceous plants. 


My Garden in Summer 

Every scrap of root will grow, and I have had some 
trouble in trying to get rid of it in a portion of the rock 
garden that I thought would suit Alpine Primulas, whereas 
any bed would be acceptable to the Geranium. 

The next place among dark blues I give to G. ibericum, 
a neat, tufted grower with woolly leaves and bunches of 
large purple-blue flowers in June^ and very effective while 
in flower, but very punctual and particular about having 
eleven months and one week in which to get ready for 
next year's show. It varies much, and some forms are 
no more than slate-coloured. I used to imagine, follow- 
ing the lead of better men, that a fine purple-flowered 
Crane's-bill called G. platypetalum. was a form of ibericum, 
but it has gone up in the world, and is reckoned a species 
now. Let us drink its health, for it is a beauty, and 
makes a grand show during its short flowering season, 
when a good clump will produce a solid central mass of 
large purple flowers rising above the handsome leaves. It 
is a wonderfully patient plant, and only asks to be planted 
and left alone. I gave a large sum, as Geranium prices 
go, for one of Wilson's Hupeh introductions. Was it not 
Chinese ? And had not all of us then a foolish belief 
that every flower from the Celestial Empire would be 
large and lovely ? Brambles and Privets have taught us 
caution now, but a baby Geranium platyanthum came here, 
and was treated with great respect and nursed on till at 
last it sent up a stout stem of many fat buds, and I longed 
for the day when the breadth of floral organs promised 
by its name should be revealed. At last a flower opened, 
and there I saw my old friend G. eriostemon hanging its 



head for shame and afraid to look me in the face, for its 
colouring could be easily imitated by mixing ink and mud, 
and I see that Knuth tears the mask of its new name from 
its face, and proclaims it to be eriostemon rightly enough. 
As the Nemophila-blue flovyers of G. IVallichianwm come so 
late in Summer, and the plant is never in its best form here 
till the nights get dewy and cold, I will leave it for another 
time, and so G. pratense is the last I shall mention of my 
true blue Crane's-bills. I have already told the history of 
the wild mass, and hinted at variant forms, so here I will 
trot them out. The deepest blue shades are correlated 
with crimson central veining, and I have a notion that 
they represent Himalayan forms. Pale blues of the skim- 
milk persuasion are numerous, and by a little careful 
selection the more watery shades go to the woods and the 
opalescent forms remain in the garden. A good pure 
white form is as lovely as any, and I also have a strain 
that is flushed and veined with pink, and in its deeper 
shades is certainly another spectable form. Even that 
range of colouring does not exhaust the possibilities of 
G. pratense, for there is an old form known as var. striatum, 
that, like the York and Lancaster Rose, produces some- 
times white, sometimes striped flowers, and occasionally 
one sharply divided in half by the two colours, but in the 
Geranium blue replaces the pink of the Rose. A goodly 
number of the seedlings of this form come true. Double- 
white G. pratense is not a bad thing, prettier than it sounds, 
and there are two forms of double blue, one much more 
purple in shade and later in flowering than the other, and 
both often masquerade in the lists as G. sylvaticum Q., pi. 


My Garden in Summer 

These doubles are valuable for the length of their flowering 
period ; the failure to set seed induces them to keep gay 
long after their single-flowered sisters have shed their 
seeds, and they form neater, stiffer plants. One portion 
of the rock garden became rather overrun by seedling 
forms of G. pratense, but among them appeared some 
interesting double and semi-double forms of lavender and 
pale blue shades, and I feel afraid of weeding up any 
unflowered babe on those slopes lest I lose some new 
marvel, a fresh miracle of metamorphosis wrought by 
Mahomet, for you must know all Geraniums were once 
dowdy Mallows, but the Prophet was so pleased with some 
sheets made out of Mallow fibres that he changed the 
plants that produced them into the beautiful Geraniums. 

Perhaps the most exciting of the pink-flowered Crane's- 
bills, at least here, is G. Endressii from the Pyrenees. In 
its typical form it is a dwarf, freely spreading, practically 
evergreen species that will flourish in any spot not too dry 
to grow a Groundsel, or so wet that it would be wasted 
on anything short of a bog plant, and besides furnishing 
green leaves for twelve months of any year with ordinary 
seasons, it will provide its raspberry-i<ie coloured flowers 
from June to December in nine years out of ten. But 
plant it within range of insects' visits from G. striatum, and 
then the exciting business begins, for in many gardens 
these two fall in love at first sight, and end in a matri- 
monial alliance that peoples their near neighbourhood 
with hybrid offspring. Rosy grounded striatum and veined 
and pencilled Endressii fledgings appear in endless varie- 
ties of pattern and shade, and I have picked out some 



very pretty things among them, especially an Endressii 
with many more spoonfuls of cream than is usual mixed 
with its raspberries, a very delicate and unusual shade of 
colour, and also another that has varied in the other 
direction, and is a good soft crimson. One seedling is 
almost ugly, for its petals are reduced to narrow strips 
like claws, and scarcely fill the interstices between the 
sepals. It is so curiously unlike a Geranium that I have 
suffered it to remain but not to spread too much. 

New Zealand provides me with two species, both suitable 
for the rock garden. G. Traversii is a fairly dwarf-growing 
one with rather handsome dark green leaves. I have lost 
the white form for some years, and now have only the 
pink one sometimes called var. elegans. The other is G. 
sessiliflorum, a quaint little species found in S. America 
as well as in New Zealand and Tasmania. Young plants 
form most attractive rosettes of wee palmate leaves, in 
among the stalks of which bunches of tiny white flowers 
are packed as closely as possible. After a year or two the 
plants become a confused mass of leaves, and do not 
show the flowers off so well, so I am cruel enough to 
howk up the elderly folk in favour of the younger 
generation, which, thanks to its free seeding habit, are 
always well to the fore. It seems to be correct now to 
call this New Zealand form var. glabrum. As a contrast 
I will present to you G. anemonaefolium from Madeira and 
Teneriffe, which in favourable seasons will grow up with 
a single stem like that of a small Palm bearing a crown of 
its beautifully divided leaves. It is none too hardy here, 
and requires some winter protection, such as a hand-light 


My Garden in Summer 

in severe winters, but when it can be safely wintered it 
will grow two feet high, and is then a glorious sight when 
full of branching flower-stems bearing the large crimson 
flowers. G. Lowei is something like it on a smaller scale 
but without its characteristic stem, and so is more like a 
gigantic Herb-Robert in appearance. I cannot believe 
the Kew Hand-list is correct in considering it as syno- 
nymous with anemonaefoliutn. I obtained my annual 
or biennial plant from Glasnevin, and I was told it 
was a Madeiran plant. It seeds freely here, is quite 
hardy enough to look after itself, and if it finds a clear 
space in fairly good soil makes a very handsome specimen. 
It flowers profusely for a long time, and sometimes the 
leaves turn a magnificent crimson in late Autumn. Our 
ordinary pink, native Herb-Robert occurs as a weed in 
parts of the garden, and in some has to be weeded up, 
but I give a welcome to two forms of it with white flowers. 
The handsomer has pink anthers and red stems and 
crimson lines on the sepals, and the leaves turn bronze 
and crimson in Winter, and I have more than once found 
this form growing wild. It is a good plant for the wilder 
portions of the rock garden, sowing itself into all sorts of 
cracks and crannies that just suit its requirements, and 
would be hard to furnish otherwise ; and if it appears too 
freely there is no difliculty about pulling it up, for it has a 
very slight root system. The other white form is a much 
smaller plant, grows flat to the ground, and has pale green 
leaves and stems, and no red anywhere about it — a thorough 
albino, in fact. I believe all the plants of it I have ever 
seen in gardens can be traced back to Sir Charles Isham, 



but I have never been able to find out where he got it from. 
Both forms come perfectly true from seed, although the 
common pink form grows rather near them. 

I have a curious form of G, pyrenaicum that is not 
quite white, but a faint almost subdued lilac, that reminds 
me of a red nose smothered in powder. It occasionally 
produces the typical red-purple form among its seedlings, 
but they never survive long after I have detected their 
evil hue. Something like a glorified pyrenaicum is G. 
albanutn, also known as cristatum; to my idea it just 
escapes being a charming plant, for though I like its long, 
thin, prostrate, wandering stems, trailing about among 
other Crane's-bills, I cannot forgive the chilly crude pink 
of its abundant flowers, and I wish I could get a white 
form of it. We do not seem to have many of the hosts 
of American species of Crane's-bill in our gardens, and 
besides sessiliflorum already mentioned, I can only recall 
Richardsonii, both pink and white forms, like a slender 
and smooth-leaved pratense, and Fremontii, with large 
rosy-lilac flowers. G. polyanthes, from the Himalaya, is 
not very exciting, and yesoense, from Japan, is not much 
more than rather pretty, like a weakly pale pink Walli- 
chianum, but flowering in early summer. 

I like G. Wlassovianum in spite of its cumbrous name,- 
and as I grow it, its flowers are paler than those of Sweet's 
plate and far prettier, as they are nearly white, only 
flushed with rosy-lilac at the outer edges. G. nodosum 
is interesting, as being found naturalised in parts of 
Britain, though those I have found have been of a terribly 
purplish red ; but I have either a good form or a closely 

My Garden in Summer 

allied species given me by Captain Pinwill, which came 
from the Hartz Mountains, that has larger flowers of a 
passable pink, and I brought one something like it, but 
paler still, from the Roja Valley this last Summer. G. 
bohemicum is too small flowered to be much more than 
a weed ; the G. asphoddoides I have does not seem to me 
true, but is a distinct pink-flowered plant for a shady 
corner. G. aconitifoUwm I brought from Mt. Cenis, and 
I like its white, black-veined flowers, and rejoice that 
Knuth gives preference to this sensible and applicable 
name before the generally received one of rivulare — 
goodness knows there were no flowing brooks on the 
rugged hillside whence I collected my plants among the 
rocks. On the contrary, it was from a stream side that 
I first collected the dusky Crane's-bill, G. phaeum ; by the 
clear stream that flows through the rocky woods behind 
Cambo, in the Basses Pyrenees, where, among evergreen 
Box bushes and small Oaks, whose leaves were brown, 
but hanging on till Spring buds should push them off, as 
is the way with Oaks of the South, although it was still 
Winter I could find many plant treasures. The bright 
green leaves of a Geranium caught my eye, and I soon 
noticed some plants were marked with conspicuous purple 
spots, four large and two small ones on each leaf, but in 
such a curious way that they were placed round the 
bases of the indentations that divide ..he sections of the 
leaves, half of each spot being on neighbouring segments, 
so that from a little distance it looks as though each 
indentation ended in a round hole, and gives a leaf the 
appearance of being more fantastically shaped than it 



really is. When they bloomed next Summer I was de- 
lighted with their claret-coloured blossoms, and by keeping 
my eye open on gardens and lists I soon added some 
colour varieties to my nigger-minstrel form — first a slaty- 
blue one from Bitton, then a greyish-mauve, not so pretty, 
from Smith of Worcester, and how they have loved me, 
and seeded and grown for me, and what a many I do 
have to weed up and carry off to the woods ! But I 
know of no more patient evergreen with fairly showy 
flowers with which to fill up bare spaces under even 
evergreen shrubs, where drip and drought succeed each 
other, and nothing else but Tree Ivies or Butcher's Broom 
could grow. I have lately collected a washy pink form 
that abounds in the somewhat cow-bitten pastures of the 
Brenner Pass in Tyrol, and from gardens some rather 
puzzling forms with redder flowers and the petals more 
reflexed, until they merge into G. reflexum, its nearest 
relation, but the blacker they are the more I like the 
forms of the Mourning Widow, as G. phaeutn has been 
aptly named. That must suffice for the review of the 
Crane's-bill regiment of the garden — others shall not be 
called out from the reserves before Autumn calls them 
to don their parade kit ; and so we pass to a tiny corps 
composed of their cousins the Stork's-bills, or Pelar- 
goniums, omitting for the present the tender forms used 
for bedding, and I must present to you four sufficiently 
hardy to be left to the mercies of our winters. 

First we have the only species found in Asia Minor, 
Pelargonium Endlichenanum, a very remarkable plant, 
not only for its home so far away from its relations, but 


My Garden in Summer 

also for its appearance. The genus Pelargonium was 
separated from Geranium on account of its irregular 
flowers. Even in the most perfectly rounded flowers of 
the florists' triumphs among Zonal Pelargoniums, persist- 
ently called Scarlet Geraniums by the multitude, one can 
still recognise the two upper larger petals, and trace the 
little grooves at their bases leading down to a passage 
in the long tube of the calyx, at the end of which 
throughout the genus a slight knob or spur shows 
just where the honey cupboard is hidden. But in this 
Asiatic species the two upper petals at first sight appear 
to be all the flower possesses, though a careful search will 
show that three minute lower ones exist and protect the 
bases of the filaments. Its pink flowers are very showyj 
but always have an incomplete appearance owing to the 
inequality of the petals, and look as though some snail 
could give an account of the flavour of the other three. 
A plant has lived out in the rock garden here for many 
years, and sometimes flowers well after a mild Winter and 
during a not too grilling Summer, should two such climatic 
joys come in the right order of precedence. It inhabits 
a crevice between two large stones facing due south, and 
enjoys the good drainage in Winter, but suffers from 
drought in dry, hot weather. I tried another plant in the 
sand moraine, and in the words of an old song, " Didn't 
she seem to like it." I thought I had hit off the secret 
of success when I saw such large, healthy leaves and tall 
flower-scapes appearing, but a wet Winter caught the 
plant, not napping, quite the reverse, too wide awake and 
active, and it rotted off at the collar. 



From far-away Australia and New Zealand come two 
others, P. inodorum and P. australe. 1 believe I have had 
both, but am not sure they came to me rightly named. 
The one I prefer and permit to fill choice corners is the 
smaller of the two, and agrees best with Sweet's figure of 
P. inodorum, but in some winters it has proved more than 
annual, and so falls foul of Knuth's ideas about it. Any- 
way it has the smallest flowers you can imagine for a 
Pelargonium, in wee round heads, yet beautifully formed 
and white shading to pink with exquisite spots and feather- 
ings of crimson on the two upper ones ; it would make 
a delightful flower with which to decorate the dinner- 
table of a small doU's-house. The seeds are curious and 
beautiful, as their minute tails are furnished with long, 
silky hairs, and a bunch of ripe ones looks like some tiny 
furry caterpillar nestling among the overblown flowers. 
The other is a coarser plant, larger in all its parts, but 
especially in its leaves, which are coarse enough to spoil 
its appearance. Both of them sow themselves here as a 
rule, but I save a pinch of seeds in case they do not 
reappear spontaneously. With the exception of one in 
Madagascar, three in Northern Africa, and those I have 
described, I believe all the rest of the family are S. 
African, and two of the Cape species have lived here 
for many years on the rock-garden : one I bought as P. 
triste, but judging by the long stem it would produce did 
not each Winter cut it back to ground level, it is more 
likely the closely-allied P. apiifolium. My plant has large 
compound leaves and bunches of small flowers, each petal 
of which looks like a piece of buff blotting-paper with a 


My Garden in Summer 

blot of ink in the centre of it. Like so many dingily 
coloured flowers they have a deliciously sweet scent in 
the evening, almost as sweet as that of Night-scented 
Stock. It has lived very happily in a crack between stones 
on the Cactus bank, and is so quaint in appearance and 
so sweet that I hope it may continue to thrive. P. sani- 
culaefoUum is my last outdoor species : it dies down each 
Winter, and in late Spring sends up rather handsome leaves, 
with a dark zone on them. The flowers are small compared 
with the leaves and the fuss it makes over them, sending 
them up on tall stalks and giving them such long, green 
calyx tubes ; they are white with red spots, but perhaps 
the best part of the plant is the long, silky beak of the 
seeds, and the amusing way in which it twists as it dries. 

Some of the larger annual species of Erodium pro- 
vide the best examples in the Geranium family of these 
hygroscopic corkscrew-twisting seeds, and I like E. Seme- 
novii and gruinum for that reason. Both have rather pretty, 
lilac-blue flowers, but they are so fugacious that you must 
look for them before noon to see them on the plant, for 
after that the petals will be scattered on the ground. They 
are followed by huge heron's-bills, two to three inches 
long ; and if you can catch a seed just ready to .break 
away from the others, it is good fun to take it indoors 
and watch its behaviour on a roughish table-cloth. As it 
dries, one side of the beak in the thinnest portion near to 
the seed contracts more quickly than the other, the long 
tail is pulled to one side and then begins to revolve, 
while the thin part is gradually twisted into a spiral. 
The seed itself has a very sharp point, which is certain 



to pierce loose earth if it falls on it, and will if dropped 
from a little height enter the nap of a woollen table-cloth ; 
the rest of the seed is covered with stiff hairs pointed 
backwards from this sharp tip, so that every one that 
enters a hole in earth or cloth prevents the withdrawal of 
the seed. You will soon notice that the tail is being 
swept round in a circle by the contracting spiral that is 
forming below it, and if you stick a pin (a hatpin for 
choice) into the cloth so that the tail may strike against it 
as it swings round and its further movement be arrested, 
then the spiral as it contracts forces the seed itself to 
revolve, and it is pushed further into the cloth. When 
all the movement is over and the spiral formed and dried, 
it is interesting to leave it in situ in the cloth and to wet 
the corkscrew portion with tepid water and watch the 
unrolling of the spiral ; the tail now moves away from 
the hatpin in the opposite direction until it is once more 
stopped by meeting with its other side, and then again 
the seed has to rotate, and as it cannot work out on 
account of its hairs it works still further in. Thus in 
natural conditions, both by drying in the sun or soaking 
in dew and rain, the seed gets screwed into the ground 
where it falls, and during June and July I can generally 
find several tails of seeds sticking out of the ground tell- 
ing where seeds have been forced in. Several of the 
Stipa Grasses use the same mechanical apparatus for seed 
sowing ; it is especially noticeable with S. formicaria, an 
elegant grass with awns some ten or more inches long, 
that after waving gracefully for some weeks on their long 
stems fly away and sow seeds so deeply and firmly that 


My Garden in Summer 

it is quite difficult to pull them out of the ground by 
their long tails, which remain like hairs growing out of 
the ground all through the Winter until the seeds germinate 
in the following Spring. 

Erodiums have almost as great a hold on my affec- 
tions as Geraniums, and I grow or have grown or wish 
to grow (in fact for them I conjugate the verb " to grow," 
in the first person singular, in all its tenses — even the 
future — with the reservation, so long as I grow anything), 
all the Heron's-bills I can get hold of : even the weediest 
of our native species have been tried, after seeing neat 
dwarf specimens on sea beaches and sand hills, but they 
soon become too coarse and leafy to be of value here. 
The head of the family, so far as size goes, is E. Manes- 
cavii, especially a robust form that appears in gardens as 
E. hybridum, with a reputed pedigree that claims E, dau- 
coides as father. Now he is a pigmy compared with 
Manescavii, and this fine child is about half as large again 
as its mother, and I cannot help thinking it may be the 
variety luxurians of Rouy, and that Sundermann's hybrid 
has not yet reached me. These giants form handsome 
rosettes — two feet or more in diameter — of fern-like 
leaves ; and though the flowers are sinfully near " Magenta, 
or New Red," as it is named in the Oberthiir Repertoire 
des Couleurs, they are so freely produced in late Summer 
and onwards that if kept out of the fighting line, where 
they might quarrel with the good old reds, they are useful 
and handsome. E. hymenodes and E. pelargoniflorum are so 
much alike they are hard to distinguish, except when in 
flower, when the little tails beset with hairs, that grow out 



of the tips of each sepal will mark pelargoniflorum, as 
hymenodes is without this adornment. Both sow them- 
selves about in dry banks, and it is best to remove the 
label from a large flowering tuft to a promising youngster 
in a suitable position, as in most Winters an old plant of 
pelargoniflorum will die, and hymenodes is avowedly a 
biennial. The flowers of both are white, flushed with 
rose, and handsomely spotted on the two upper petals 
in Pelargonium fashion ; a good specimen is a grand 
sight when full of flower, which it should be from June till 
frosts nip it. I had a beautiful white form of E. pelargoni- 
florum for many years. It may not astonish you to learn 
I got my seed from Bitton. One Winter it died with 
Canon Ellacombe and with me, and but one seed re- 
mained between us, harvested here. I sowed it, it ger- 
minated, and I was able to restore it to Bitton, and two 
years later collected a seed off it which produced my last 
plant ; but ever since then neither garden has produced 
a seed, and our old plants are no more. I hope it still 
exists somewhere, and I may yet get a seed. Kind, good 
reader, if you have it save me a nice, fat, brown one. 

E- romanum, from the Coliseum's walls, mentioned in 
the account of the Spring garden, is at its best through 
the Summer months, and goes on flowering cheerily in 
the gravel path till nigh on to Christmas, and so does the 
white E. amanum, but golden chrysanthum prepares for 
Winter earlier in Autumn. E. carvifolium has the ap- 
pearance of a small edition of Manescavii, and like it is 
of Spanish origin. I consider it an interesting plant, for 
not only are the leaves, as its name tells, very suggestive 

113 H 

My Garden in Summer 

of an umbelliferous plant, and especially one of the Caro- 
ways, but if one were given you to name, and you 
happened to call in your nose to help you, as I often do, 
you would, I think, in the absence of flowers, decide in 
favour of the Caroway, so remarkably carrot-like is the 
scent of a bruised leaf. Why on earth should a plant 
mimic another so perfectly in scent and appearance ? The 
Marsh Samphire, Inula crithmoides, is a parallel instance 
as understudying Crithmum maritimum equally well. Most 
of the other species I grow are more distinctly saxatile and 
form cushions of finely-cut leaves in dry and hot crevices 
among the rocks. E. absinthioides, with grey leaves and 
bright rose-pink blossoms, forms a large tuft in time, and 
is a sturdy, good-hearted fellow ; but I prefer those that 
have the wonderfully-shaded peacock eyes on the upper 
petals, of which E. macradenum is one of the best, with 
pale rose ground colour, and the eyes have grey-blue 
marbled pupils and a rich purple black iris. What to 
call a beautiful plant, the counterpart of the last in 
all but the white ground colour of its flowers, puzzles 
me, for I seldom see it twice with the same name 
attached to it. Guttatum and cheilanthifoUum are perhaps 
the most frequent, but, whatever is its name, it is one of 
the best of all, easy to grow and free-flowering. E. supra- 
canum is lovely with its pink flowers and finely cut leaves 
with a good imitation of hoar frost running along their 
veins, but I cannot give it so good a character as to the 
last, for it often dies here in Winter. E. corsicum is 
fairly new to most gardens and a very distinct gain. It 
loves a hot place, slightly overhung by a stone, and 



getting that, should flower all the Summer through and 
ripen seeds. They are so ridiculously small that I 
thought the first few I gathered could not be fertile ; 
every one produced a healthy plant all the same, but 
they varied in colour, one being white with red veins 
and not so lovely as the rosy-crimson form. I expect 
it would get a bit flustered by a very severe Winter, 
especially if wet at the time the frost caught it; and it 
is lovely enough to merit a glass for the worst weather, 
even though the flowers are small, for they make up for 
that in number and brilliancy of colouring. There is yet 
another species, smaller still, but very beautiful, E. chamae- 
dryoides, often called E. Reichardii, one of the closest 
growing, so neat and tufty that a few inches will be the 
limits of an old colony, in which it beats Arenaria balearica, 
that will not learn to keep at home where planted and 
wanted. This might be called the Fairy Heron's-bill, for 
its white flowers, veined with pink, are small and dainty 
enough for a wedding bouquet for Queen Mab herself. 
It grows here among my collection of dwarf and pygmy 
plants, and is one of the choicest of them. 



A June Stroll 

I FEEL that the last few chapters have been rather bota- 
nical, and savour too much of the study and its book- 
shelves, so for a change let us take things as we find them 
in the garden on this lovely morning in early June. 

Before we leave the doorstep please pay a tribute of 
admiration to Crambe cordifoUa, not only for its beauty 
but also for its good nature in growing where it does and 
has done for nearly twenty years. The front of the house 
is a network of foundations and areas with gratings over 
them to let light down to underground windows, and it 
must indeed be a long-suffering plant that can make itself 
happy enough to sojourn there for long. I allow them 
all an annual mulch in Spring of Wellson's patent manure 
as a reward for their patience in adversity, and because it 
is neither unsightly nor too evilly scented to place so near 
the house ; and thereby enriched, Crambe gives two crops 
of its handsome dark green leaves in each season and one 
huge cloud every June, about five feet square (only, like 
other clouds, it is round), of myriads of white flowers. It is 
earlier than usual this season, for as a rule it makes its best 
show about the end of the month. Cut the flowering stem 
clean away when the flowers have fallen, and remove any 


A June Stroll 

yellowing leaves, for in their senile decay, which generally 
occurs in July, both will exhale an appalling odour of 
decayed Cabbage stalks ; and also I advise keeping a sharp 
look-out on the undersides of the young leaves for eggs 
and larvae of our two common Cabbage White Butterflies, 
which love them, and if let alone soon skeletonise them. 
The rest of this border is planted with the larger species 
of Acanthus. A. mollis, with its huge shining leaves and 
tall spikes of prickly blossoms, is handsome all the year 
except when snow or very severe frost destroys its great 
leaves. A. spinosus is the species of classical renown and 
architectural fame in the Corinthian capitals, and is one 
of the best to grow, its leaves adding the beauty of their 
finely-cut tracery to the colossal size of mollis. Its variety 
spinosissimus, from Dalmatia, is more finely cut still and 
covered with white spines, and though very remarkable 
in appearance is rather confused in its outline and lacks 
the beauty of its less spiny brother. A. longif alius has 
leaves longer than broad and something like those of 
mollis, but more deeply cut. It disappears altogether 
below ground in Autumn, but arises in a wondrous hurry 
as soon as Spring calls it, and flowers more freely than 
any kind I know. One I have as A. Schottii is very much 
like it ; though said to possess a branched flower-spike, it 
has been very stiff, straight, and pokerish so far each time 
it has flowered. A. CaroH-Alexandri ought to be some- 
thing of unusual magnificence to carry off such a double- 
barrelled name, but up to the present has looked like 
a sick and sulky spinosus. That is one drawback of the 
Acanthus family, its members will sometimes sulk for years 


My Garden in Summer 

after a removal ; but once they forgive you they ramp, 
and if you try to curb this form of letting off steam peculiar 
to vigorous plants and heraldic animals by removing 
large portions to other sites, it is quite possible the large 
plants removed will begin the hunger-strike method once 
again and dwindle for a season or two ; while every atom 
of broken rootlet you have left in the bdttom of the two- 
feet-deep hole you took them out of will sprout up into 
stronger plants than those removed. 

I have a few things to show you in the so-called Damp- 
bed, so come across the lawn and answer with a word of 
encouragement the friendly barks of old Flo the Raven 
as we pass her favourite trees. The Wood Anemones 
that detained us here so long in April are only green 
carpets now ; but Mertensia paniculata recalls Spring with 
its many turquoise-blue bells, smaller but scarcely less 
beautiful than those of M. pulmonarioides, which most of 
us call virginica, but must not if we wish to agree with the 
Kew Hand-list, and which has been over for more than a 
month — I mean the plant, of course, not the book, for 
that has been out of date many years, and it is high time 
it flowered again and gave us up-to-date names with double 
i terminations ; but as it is still the most authoritative 
general list of plants it must be followed when no great 
monograph has superseded it. AUium Schoenoprasum var. 
sibiricum grows beside it, and is of a wonderfully pleasing 
shade of soft purple that always reminds me of old velvet 
curtains or stained glass. This is but a form of the Chives 
that are so good in salads and omelettes, but larger and 
brighter in its flowers; a British rarity and only to be 


A June Stroll 

found wild in Cornwall both on the Lizard, whence I 
collected my original plant, and also near Tintagel, and 
I think our Cornish form handsomer than any I have 
found in the Alps. Oreocome Candollei has no longer a 
right to use that sonorous title, it seems, and has become 
identified with Selenium tenuifolium; but it is still the 
queen of umbellifers, with its almost transparent tender 
greenness and the marvellously lacy pattern of its large 
leaves. I think it the most beautiful of all fern-leaved 
plants, and keep a small colony here. Running wild 
round its feet is a fine white form of white Lychnis Flos- 
cuculi that I caught sight of one happy day through the 
gauze of my butterfly net when bug-hunting in the Norfolk 
Broads. For years I had kept an open eye for a good 
white form, for I had long possessed a poor one, a regular 
albino with pale yellowish leaves and stems, and even 
through the gauze I saw I had at last found what I 
longed for — large, pure-white flowers and the beautiful 
crimson stems and calyx of the pink plant. When I had 
dug up my find I looked further afield, and a few yards 
avray was a soft flesh-pink one almost as charming ; and 
both of them are with me still, or at least their chil- 
dren are, for though both revert to some extent, the 
majority of their babes inherit their parents' good looks, 
and the common pink forms are pulled up as soon as 

Two puzzles for botanists grow side by side in this bed 
in two Spiraeas that are not only totally unlike each other 
but mimic other well-known shrubs. One is S. opulifolia 
var. aurea, a beautiful golden-leaved thing, and so much 


My Garden in Summer 

like a Guelder Rose in leaf and growth that anyone 
might be pardoned for declaring it to be one. The other 
is S. laevigata, and has rather glaucous entire leaves 
and a clumsy thick habit of growth, and suggests a 
Daphne, and most people if asked what it. is will so 
name it. Now come across the other lawn and look at 
a corner of the large herbaceous bed and some single 
Paeonies ; the first was given me by Dr. Lowe, and is still 
the finest single white one I know. It is a fine form of 
P. albifiora, whose chief glories are its immense white 
petals and the rich orange ball of stamens in the 
centre. These are so conspicuous that a small boy 
once asked me if that was orange flower, because he 
said he could see the oranges in the centre nearly ripe. 
Almost as good is a garden variety I bought as Water Lily, 
but it has two ranks of petals, and I think this duphcity 
detracts a little from its beauty, but it is very solidly white 
and orange. Round the feet of these singles and a few 
clumps of double P. albifiora, there is now a good show of 
Papaver umbrosum, self-sown and hoe-spared at tidying-up 
times to flame out now with its crimson flowers with deep 
black bases. It is far too seldom allowed to sow itself in 
gardens, but that is the way to grow it : a seedling can be 
left when well placed, or easily moved if too near some- 
thing too good to be smothered, at the autumnal cleaning 
up, and what is a small rosette then will make a fine show 
by the following June. I always prized it highly, but have 
had an extra affection for it since I saw it growing among 
the fallen blocks of marble on the Acropolis. A good form 
of Clematis integrifolia is also worth looking at ; its large, 


A June Stroll 

leathery flowers are such a rich sapphire blue. A few of 
them have come double each season, but are more curious 
than beautiful. I always admire the way the edges of each 
pair of its opposite leaves adhere tightly, and the boat-shaped 
leaves form a cosy cradle for the next pair, until they are 
old enough to appear in the world as protectors of a still 
younger couple or a flower-bud. Lilium croceum is a fine 
colour contrast next to the blue Clematis, but would look 
well almost anywhere, and being one of the hardiest and 
most adaptable of Lilies it is strange that one does not more 
often see broad masses of it planted among herbaceous 

It is one of our most reliable Lilies here, though I am 
sadly muddled in mind as to whether it is the true L. cro- 
ceum of Southern Europe, or some garden form, or whether 
croceum is or is not more than a form of bulbiferum. I once 
worried myself over its literature, and then vowed I would 
leave the puzzle for someone else to solve or qualify himself 
for Colney Hatch, and as we have forsworn the study and 
its books to-day, I will not break vows. I always rejoice 
to see the Fire Lily in the Alps, whether springing out of 
rocky ledges as on the St. Gothard, and above Bobbio 
in the Cottians, or floating over the meadow grass as I saw 
it above Creto in Austria. I imagine from what books 
do agree in saying of it that it should be L. bulbiferum, but 
whenever I get close up to it and look for axillary bulbils 
that would be so easy to gather and to transport home, 
I never found a trace of them, and have supposed it 
was L. croceum in consequence. In the top of the new 
moraine bed in the rock garden I have planted side by 


My Garden in Summer 

side what I have lately bought from Siindermann as L. 
bulbiferum and L. croceum, and one has a plentiful supply 
of bulbils in the axils of its leaves, and the other nary-a- 
one, but they are too weakly to flower yet awhile and let 
me see if there is any feature of their floral faces by which 
I can distinguish them. Close by the Lily is a fine orange- 
red glow from Papaver orientale Silberblick, a neat-habited 
variety, whose chief merit, however, lies in its hair having 
gone grey — at least it reminds me of a young man or 
woman with grey hair, for the anthers and usually black 
spot are silvered, and give it an interesting appearance as 
white locks do to a young face. Double White Rocket is 
in full blow, and its soft tone of white is a thing of its own. 
What is it most like ? It is whiter than the grey of an 
oyster, and greyer than the greenish gleam of Lowestoft 
china, and I think deserves a new name of its own. It is 
a bothersome plant to grow, as it wants pulling to bits and 
replanting so early in the season, just when there are so 
many far pleasanter operations to be performed among 
ripening fruits and opening flowers. So it is often 
neglected too long, and is abused as a difficult and mifly 
plant, when it is one's own procrastination and shirking of 
dull toil that have starved the poor thing. Senecio Doroni- 
cum is a mass of orange flowers, and running about into 
a wide clump so unlike its refined stay-at-home manners 
in Alpine pastures ; never in England does it fully wear 
the iron-grey sheen all over its leaves that is so attractive 
as a foil to the orange flowers up aloft on its native hills. 

I have brought home what I hoped were specially 
endowed specimens, whose almost silvery sheen would be 


A June Stroll 

a matter of family pride, but here they are as green as any 
boiled Winter Kale. We have skirted the large herbaceous 
bed all round now while picking out these few plants for 
notice, and on our return journey the large six-foot-high 
bush of Salvia Grahamii by the door of the conservatory 
catches our eyes, as it has begun its five months' display 
of crimson flowers. Twice it has been cut to the ground 
by frost, but the last few Winters have been kind to it, so 
please admire its dimensions and woody trunk as well as 
its brilliant flowers and pleasant odour, for who knows 
what next Winter may do to it ? If you have it not, I 
advise you to pluck a spray to carry home and put in as 
cuttings, and by next Summer you will with good luck 
have a bush half as large as mine. Now you must come 
along the Eremurus bed to see two more Paeonies. The 
spikes of early Eremuruses, Elwesianus and its relations, 
are now covered with seedpods like minute Greengages 
instead of pink and white blossoms, but the yellow foxes' 
brushes of E. Bungei are beginning to light up from below. 
I like them best, though, just a little later, when the greater 
part of the spike has opened, and the lowest portion has 
turned to the rich orange-brown assumed by the overblown 
flowers, and which shades up so gradually into the pure 
yellow of newly-opened blooms and buds. The coppery 
varieties of E. Warei will not open for a week or two, but 
have already shot up tall green spikes. E. shelfordi, as it has 
been named, in defiance of botanical congresses and their 
many recommendations for the formation of names, is the 
one that does best here of those late-flowering forms, but 
E, Olgae, the latest of all, has always been a failure, dying 


My Garden in Summer 

of sunstroke, to all appearances, just when its flowers were 
ready to open. So here, where it once grew, is a really 
magnificent Paeony, a form of P. officinalis called Rivers- 
lea, in which the petals are wonderfully round and hol- 
lowed, and of a most remarkably deep scarlet surrounding 
a splendid boss of golden stamens. The flowers last longer 
than those of any other single-flowered Paeony I know, 
certainly for ten days, and I think even more in favour- 
able seasons. A few steps further along, a particularly 
good form of P. lutea is flowering well, and holds its head 
up better than does the smaller-flowered, first-introduced 
plant. The waxy yellow of this flower makes it look like 
some magnified St. John's Wort of the shrubby kind, such 
as Hypericum Hookeri or the glorious triflorum, which, alas ! 
must live in a pot here, so as to be wintered indoors. 

Tom Tiddler's Ground is very rich in gold and silver 
just now ; Tom must have changed a cheque on the Bank 
of Summer lately, for I have never seen the golden end 
more glowing, even though the yellow Tulips have long 
since gone, and the effect mostly depends on my golden- 
leaved plants. The Ribes is really golden, Acer califor- 
nica aurea as bright a yellow as any leaf could be, and the 
cut-leaved Elder almost as brilliant. Robinia pseudacacia 
aurea is not fully out yet, and is a wonderfully delicate 
creamy yellow, that contrasts and yet blends with its 
brighter neighbours as well as the perianth does with the 
trumpet of a bicolor Daffodil. 

The grey corner in front is as fresh and gleaming, in 
spite of the woolly covering to which many of its plants 
ov^e their whiteness, as a bag of new silver straight from 


A June Stroll 

the mint. Cerastium tomentosum adds white flowers to 
niveous leaves — aha ! who said I was hard up for adjec- 
tives ? Atriplex Halimus is as glittering as real silver, and 
the Artemisias in the front of the bed are just white velvet, 
while Salvia argentea is grey plush. The pink of the 
Oriental Poppy, Jenny Mawson, in the midst of all this 
silver looks simply delicious, like a strawberry-ice on a 
frosted glass plate. I think she is about the best of the 
salmon-pink ones, being so neat in habit as well as good in 
colour. What an advance these modern beauties are on 
the first dingy, faded affair, with straggling stalks and 
smothering leaves, we thought such a marvellous deal 
of twenty years or so ago as Salmon Queen. Queen 
Alexandra, Mrs. Perry, Lady Roscoe, and many others 
make that poor queen appear overworn, as Gerard and 
Parkinson would term it, and more like a muddy trout than 
a salmon. Lady Roscoe is rather wild in habit, but she 
lives in one of the Iris beds, as her -colouring is so pleasing 
with pale lavender Irises. All of them will stand pretty 
rough treatment in the shape of cutting down, leaves and 
all, after flowering j in fact, such treatment generally in- 
duces them to send up a fresh supply of neat leaves and a 
few blossoms in early Autumn. The garden has presented 
me with a hybrid of its own making, much like the rup- 
orient one known as Carington-Lee, but mine, I believe, has 
pilosum instead of rupifragum for seed parent, ^nd is a line 
orange-scarlet, and has neat, thin stems to the large flowers., 
The same mother-plant mated once with a P. somniferum 
of sorts, and a singularly dainty child was the result, with 
glaucous, powdered leaves, thin stalks, and pale apricot 


My Garden in Summer 

flowers with a large white satin eye-spot on each petal. Of 
course, a cross between such widely different parents, the 
one annual and smooth, the other Jjerennial and hairy as 
Esau, was not likely to bear fertile seed, and in late Autumn 
it was puzzled how to keep itself going. It tried the plan 
of making several juicy side shoots from the collar of its 
obviously annual tap-root, and the first frost reduced them 
to the appearance of boiled Spinach. 

I am hoping a better fate may befall an exquisite race 
Mr. Perry brought me flowers of this Summer, I should 
say of Oriental and somniferum parents, for such soft 
shades of rosy red, such blue leaves, such black spotted 
centres as they possessed, are too lovely to be lost. 
P. pilosum and rupifragum, and its variety atlanticum, 
seed almost too freely here, but where they can be 
allowed to colonise they are very enjoyable for some 
six weeks of summer, especially if something can be 
done now and then to remove some of the hundreds of 
seedpods and prolong their flowering season. It is not a 
pleasing operation, as the stalks look ugly if one just cuts 
off the pods and leaves them of full length, and it is 
hard to snip among the vast array of buds without 
cutting as many buds as pods. P. Heldreichii and P. 
californicum turned out pretenders, and just forms of one 
or other of my two old friends pilosum and rupifragum, 
but I forget which was which, as it was years ago they 
imposed on my, credulity, and I removed their labels 
when disillusioned. The rock garden at this season is 
full of Poppies. P. sinense is a neat, perennial fellow 
with light orange-coloured flowers borne singly on thin 


^^'> ' 



':i^A;^-'lfefe,.Vi\,.- ■*► 

]'oppies iuicl Anlhcricuiiu }jY IIiil,"]] L. Nciri^ 
;See p. 12;.') 

A June Stroll 

stalks, and it makes such an attractive tuft of light green 
leaves under the flowers that it is well suited to grow 
among rocks. Miss Willmott gave me this uncommon 
species, and I do not remember seeing it elsewhere than 
at Warley and now here. Thanks to her kindness also 
I have the beautiful biennial P. caucasicum. Its winter 
rosettes of blue-grey leaves would alone make it worth 
growing, and its tall spires of orange-coloured flowers are 
so uncommon in appearance, rather like some Meconopsis, 
that it is well worth sowing and leaving to sow itself ever 
afterwards in either a rough rock bank or the ordinary 
border, where the hoe will not harass its babes. P. aculea- 
tum from S. Africa of all strange homes for a hardy Poppy, 
also known as horridum and gariepinum, is something like 
it, but rougher altogether, not so brilliant in the orange 
shade, and the rosettes are hairy, Brussels-sprout-green 
all the Winter, instead of the Seakale-Ieaf blue colouring of 
the Caucasian species. P. pavontum is only an annual, 
but I like to see it reappear, with its strangely blotched 
eye which gives it the name of Peacock Poppy. This 
eye varies somewhat, but is generally a crimson spot that 
would go badly with the scarlet ground colour, were it 
not ringed with a black horseshoe, and sometimes a grey 
marbling as well. One of the loveliest of all Poppies is 
P. arenarium, which I got seed of many years ago from 
my dear old friend Mr. Thompson of Ipswich but cannot 
hear of anywhere nowadays. It used to sow itself so 
freely in the rock garden that I never troubled to save 
seeds, but lately it has failed to reappear. It is biennial, 
a small edition of P. umbrosum, but the leaves are more 


My Garden in Summer 

beautifully cut, and the flowers the most brilliant scarlet 
that can be imagined, while each petal has a large, indigo- 
blue spot at its base, so rich and wonderful in colour that 
it was a joy to see. I have hopes that if I stir up the 
bank on which they grew some seeds may germinate that 
now lie buried, so 1 am planning an earthquake for that 
range of miniature mountains, as P. glaucum appears self- 
sown whenever I dig up a bit of ground where it once 
grew and seeded. 

Of course the most delightful of all annual Poppies 
is that wonderful race Mr. Wilks has patiently and skil- 
fully brought to such perfection of orange and salmon 
shades from his original wild find of a white-edged Field 
Poppy. Thanks to his generosity thousands now enjoy 
his Shirley Poppies, and I among them annually beg, 
with the rest of the privileged Fellows of the R.H.S., for 
some seed of the latest crop, and grow them according 
to his wise instructions and even (though it goes sorely 
against the grain) obey him literally, and refrain from 
thanking him until the delight of their lovely shades and 
silky folded and crumpled petals round their gold-dusted 
eyes compels me to tell him how I am enjoying them. 
It took me a long while to learn how to cut them for 
the house, so that they would not flag and faint within 
an hour. They never flag now when cut, nor do they 
fail to last in full beauty for three days if 1 carry a 
jug of hot water {hot, not tepid) down to their bed 
in the evening, after dinner for preference, and cut the 
buds that have straightened up their necks ready to open 
on the morrow or perhaps the day after, and any flowers 


A June Stroll 

that have just split the calyx lobes and are showing their 
colour. I put each one into my jug so that it is almost 
up to its neck in hot water as soon as I have cut it, 
and I put jug and all in the bathroom for the night, 
because I love to see them half open, bursting off the 
sepals, or even in freshly-escaped glory full of crinkles 
and folds, the first thing in the morning. Opened thus 
and transferred to other vases, they will generally last 
for three days unless stood in a violent draught, or 
shaken by being moved about, and, moreover, will 
increase in beauty, for they grow in size daily, until 
the anthers and petals all descend with a rush and make 
what the housemaids declare to be a horrid mess, but 
is often a wonderful display of blended shades dusted 
over with golden pollen, almost as good to look at as the 
young flowers themselves. If you cut them regularly and 
remove the seedpods of the fallen flowers, the patch will 
continue giving you large, long-stemmed buds for a much 
longer period than if allowed to bear seed too early. Of 
course, any plant of an extra lovely orange-salmon shade, 
or with a more than usually beautiful white eye or lace 
edging to its mantle, may be allowed to bear one or 
more seed heads, and in that case I advise your tying 
a piece of white worsted round their necks, so as to see 
them easily when removing undesired pods. I suppose 
everyone grows P. nudicaule, one of the most northern 
in range of known flowering plants, and everyone ought 
to grow its southern miniature representative, P. alpinum, 
for any gritty mound sprinkled with a pinch of its seed 
will become a spot of beauty and remain so for years. 

129 I 

My Garden in Summer 

The fringed form var. laciniatum has taken possession of 
part of my rock garden, but I do not like it as much as the 
lovely, round-flowered, typical form. The Sunday-school 
boys who review my flowers on Sunday afternoons with 
me call it the Ragtime Poppy, and it amuses them vastly, 
I have already praised a group of Meconopsis heterophylla 
in the rock garden in Spring, but those were self-sown 
plants that had battled through the Winter, and by now 
are beginning to look shabby and full of seedpods, but 
those sown in Spring are still in full beauty. It is one of 
my most favourite plants, its deep orange-red flowers are 
so unlike anything else in flower at this season, reminding 
one of one of the best of Orange Tulips, Tulipa Gesneriana 
aurantiaca, but the Meconopsis has an additional charm 
in a singularly rich brown-madder eye that would ensure 
a First Class Certificate for the Tulip if it could be trans- 
ferred to it. The accompanying illustration shows how 
freely this little American Poppy flowers, but cannot 
convey any idea of its glorious colouring. 

We seem to have run all round the garden after these 
Poppies, but only mentally, and we are still standing by 
the grey corner of Tom Tiddler's ground, for I want you, 
before you move away, to admire a group of a seedling 
Delphinium that we love very much. It is a tall, strong 
grower, and has a perfect Bella Donna blue colour and 
a good white eye, and yet is as robust, hardy, and chop- 
up-able as any of the fat-growing, easy-going sorts that 
poison one's eye with baleful mixtures of blue and lilac. 
We call it Delphinium Dining-room-window, as that 
describes the position in which it first showed its pure 


Meconopsis hcterophylla. (Seep. ijO-) 

A June Stroll 

turquoise colouring, and where the old plant still resides. 
Here in the middle of the silver variegated plants, and 
backed by the purple-leaved colony that makes the foil 
for the gold and silver plants, it shows off its beauty to 
fullest advantage. Silene fimbriata grows at its feet, and 
is rather a coarse plant, but produces large, pure white 
flowers, with their petals fringed as finely as the silken 
tassels that accompany dance programmes, and if some 
bunches of the seed heads are cut off now and then will 
continue flowering till frost comes. In front of it a 
colony of Verhascum phoeniceum is trying to reproduce 
the effect achieved by the lilac and purple Tulips last 
month, but not quite so richly. This species is not 
made enough of in most gardens ; the light spikes of 
bloom vary wonderfully in colour from pure white through 
rosy-mauve and lavender to deepest purple, and a little 
selection soon ensures pleasant blendings. iT is truly 
perennial, and if the central flower-stem is cut out when 
it is becoming lanky and too much devoted in its lower 
two-thirds to maternal duties, fresh young spikes will 
spring up in a wonderfully short time. Funkiq. undulata 
variegata is planted among these Mulleins, and its waved 
leaves are so beautifully rich in cream, to borrow a phrase 
from the dairy, that they lighten the general effect very 
pleasantly, as the Mullein's own leaves are rather sombre. 
Olearia stellulata is now all white flowers which have 
snowed under its leaves, and is effective as a high-light, 
taking the place of the Poet's Daffodils of April days, 
while Chrysanthemum maximum and white Phloxes are 
planted just behind, to follow on later. I like to cut out 


My Garden in Summer 

all I can of the old flowering shoots of this Olearia as 
soon as their snow has melted, and though it looks like 
reducing the size of one's bush at the time, it is not so at 
all, for the young silvery shoots profit enormously by the 
space and extra share of sap thus allowed them, and build 
up a very superior bush to reward the hand that wisely 
wounded it. A group of three well-rooted cuttings planted 
among herbaceous plants, and treated with kind severity 
at pruning time, forms a much more lucrative silver mine 
than the " hole in the ground owned by a liar," as some- 
one so aptly defined the kind of mine that so often yawns 
for the speculating public. 

Some yellow Lilies now stand up well among the 
ripening leaves of the yellow Tulips. A large zinc label 
proclaims the tallest and most fully out as Liliutn coU 
chicum, but the Kew Hand-list insists this should be L. 
monadelphum var. Szovitzianutn, which is better to re- 
member, and perhaps to shout at one's dog if he is about 
to curl up for a snooze on some choice seedlings, than 
to write on a label. Anyway, the form bought under the 
simpler name is here taller and earlier than tliose labelled 
L. monadelphum, vjhich you can see have at present got 
no further than the green bud stage, for here is a large 
clump of them close beside the earlier form, whose 
brilliant yellow and peppering of fine black specks is now 
so attractive, rather outshining its humble and evil-scented 
neighbour, Lilium pyrenaicum, the old, old Yellow Mar- 
tagon of cottage gardens, and still older Yellow Mountain 
Lily of Gerard. I am fond of it and its reliable, sturdy 
ways, but of course it must yield in beauty before L. 


A June Stroll 

Hansonii from Japan, which later on makes a fine glow 
of yellow behind those now flowering, but across the 
path and among some good forms of Hart's-tongue ferns, 
of which I must write some day, as they are so very 
good. Still farther on, but visible from where we stand, 
a planting of Primula Butteyana in another bay of the 
fern beds is doing great things, and has expanded its 
lower tier of orange flowers, and makes a good glow of 
colour above its cheerful, yellow-green leaves, with their 
conspicuous red midribs that help the general effect so 
much. Now I have a feeling that it ought to be luncheon 
time, and after so much running about we need it, so we 
will make for the house, and en route please notice Briza 
maxima, the Great Quaking Grass, self-sown and left 
where needed in patches, or isolated plants which of 
course are the finest, but not so effective as a clump 
a yard across. Its large pendant heads, wonderfully 
like Hops, are as lovely as any green thing in the garden 
at this moment ; their light yellow-green goes so well with 
their own rich green leaves, and also contrasts with the 
deeper shade of the edging of Saxifraga (Megasea) cordi- 
folia, behind which this Grass grows just here, in the 
opposite bed to that given over to Tom Tiddler's gold 
and silver plants. Later on the heads turn yellow and 
then buff, and still later the stalks ripen to a rich foxy 
burnt-sienna red, and especially just before sunset a large 
patch lights up and looks wonderfully brilliant even among 
the flaming colours of a July border. 



A June Afternoon 

Is it too babyish to go on making believe, and so inviting 
you to take an after-lunch stroll ? It is so fashionable 
to keep young nowadays, when grandmothers take Tango 
lessons, and octogeraniums, as the aged gardener called 
himself, dress and behave like the youngest fresh from 
school. I admire their pluck, even if I do not care for 
their skimpy skirts, and I hope a bit of pretending on our 
own part may help to keep us young. Besides, I really 
did do as I am describing on the day I wandered round to 
make the notes that are growing into these two chapters. 

So come and sit on the semi-circular white seat on the 
lawn, and we will have our coffee brought out to us there, 
as it is pleasantly shaded in the afternoon by the Scots 
Pines and big Beech behind it. As we sit there we see a 
round bed in the lawn, that I can recall in childhood's 
days primly bedded out with scarlet and white Zonal Pelar- 
goniums in the centre, and blue Lobelia as an edging. I 
seized upon this bed one day in Spring when I arrived home 
from a visit to Dr. Lowe with a bundle of treasures that 
needed homes. So I threw to the winds its Wallflower 
tenants, and packed in many of my new friends, and 
there some of them remain to this day. Here in April we 


A June Afternoon 

admired the lovely form of Wood Anemone that Dr. Lowe 
called in the past, and I in the present still call, Leeds' 
variety. Its flowers have gone, of course, by now, but the 
little American yellow Violet, V. scabriuscula, still keeps up 
a show among the Anemone leaves. Just now the glory 
of the bed is Stylophorum diphyllum, a seedling of which 
came from Dr. Lowe, and has colonised the bed as thickly 
as I can permit, and has emigrated, not only to other 
parts of my garden, but to those of my friends. For, easy 
as it is to grow, and beautiful as are its large yellow Poppy- 
like flowers and its glaucous leaves, I very seldom meet 
with it and its relations in gardens, and most of my visitors 
are glad to add it to their collection. It comes from 
N. America, so is perfectly hardy j a good perennial, that 
will grow into a large but neat clump, and needs no 
division or fussing with for half a dozen years at least. 
It flowers from May onward for months, if you remove 
most of the seedpods before they become too large 
to weaken the bud supply, and too attractive to be 
spared ; for they grow into handsome, egg-shaped, hanging 
pods of a charming grey-blue colour, and very good to 
look at. It is not well to look at your fingers, though, if 
you use them unclad, as I generally do in gardening, to 
remove these seeds, for the plant is closely related to the 
Greater Celandine, Chelidonium majus, and has even shared 
its generic name at times, and like it and their cousin 
Bocconia, exudes an orange-coloured juice when broken 
that stains abominably. That is the worst of my style of 
gardening, my finger nails are never even respectable, until 
I have been away from home and visiting friends who do 


My Garden in Summer 

not require or permit any help in their garden operations, 
for at least a week, when I scarcely recognise the pink and 
white terminations of my fingers as really part of them. 
Two hours after my return we have changed all that, 
though, for I cannot garden in gloves. I make a start 
sometimes, when a lecture from a shocked friend, or the 
desire to appear fairly clean-fingered at some approaching 
festive gathering, has aroused ambitions. But sooner or 
later a bit of earth gets inside a finger of the glove, or I 
find I am pulling heads off weeds and leaving their tails 
in to multiply and replenish the earth, and off goes the 
beastly glove, and my freed fingers do their work so much 
better without it that it remains off, unless I have to prune 
such prickly customers as Roses and Brambles, or pull 
leaves off the greater sword-leaved Eryngiums or the 
Symphytums, these last two being armed with small 
bristles of silica as sharp as broken glass. 

For a short period I persevered with a most refined 
and elegant idea I read about somewhere, and carried a 
cake of soap in a metal soapbox in my garden basket, and 
scratched it diligently like a cat claws a tree or the leg 
of one's best Chippendale chairs, until my nails were so 
well fil ed with soap there was no room for dirt, and, of 
course, as some popular song or saying (1 forget which) 
put it, " It all comes out in the wash." But I have long 
since got used to broken and stumpy nails and a roughened 
and dyed forefinger any seamstress would shudder at, and 
I am hoping my friends are getting used to them also. 
I cannot stand and give orders, and watch them being 
carried out, for long, without my fingers itching to be in 


A June Afternoon 

the pie. If I have gently laid out a root on the soft, 
newly-dug soil, I feel I have done the best that can be 
done for it, stretched it just as far as it could and should 
go without forcing it unnaturally, laid it in the softest bed 
and so on, but to watch the operation, even though just 
as skilfully perfornoed, fills one with doubts. Is not the 
root being strained at its junction with the stem ? Would 
it not be better a little more to the right ? The pro- 
fessional gardener is so clever and clean with his tools, 
too, that he very seldom handles the soil or even messes 
the handle of his tools. But I cannot acquire his knack ; 
my hands go into the soft thrown-out heap to sprinkle 
it round the newly-placed roots, to press it down on one 
side, or make a little hole to push a tributary root into ; 
so on any but the driest days, or when working in the 
sand of the moraine or Iris patch, I and all the tools 
I am using are covered with mud in a few minutes. I 
hope the precious things I plant thus fussily are the 
better for it all. But let us go back to our Celandine 
Poppy, take a good look at its handsome two-inch-wide 
flowers, and note how many of them it bears, and if 
you have fallen a victim to its charms we will hunt for 
a yearling babe that will move easily and be thankful for 
a less crowded home. Round in the pergola garden I 
can show you another species, Stylophorum lasiocarpum 
from China, with coarser and greener leaves, not nearly 
so good a plant as the American cousin, but interesting 
for its remarkable seedpods, about four inches long, and 
narrow and cylindrical like hairy cucumbers, the right 
size for a doll's dinner-party. This species is not much 


My Garden in Summer 

more than biennial, and I rather think will make way for 
its betters in this good bed, finding a home somewhere 
round the feet of certain shrubs that will look better for 
a carpet. A near relative of this, Dicranostigma (formerly 
Chelwdonium) Franchetianutn, generally reappears annually 
self-sown in the rock garden. In a few mild Winters 
young plants will survive, and come into flower in May, 
but it is best treated, or rather allowed to treat itself, as an 
annual. It makes pretty, flat rosettes of grey, many-lobed 
leaves, from the centre of which come slender branching 
stems that bear numerous bright yellow flowers, and after 
them slender pods full of black seeds that one scatters 
hopefully for next year's flowering. Hylotnecon japonica is 
another closely-related plant, and has been reckoned both 
a Chelidonium and a Stylophorum by different authors. It 
is very beautiful, and has richer coloured flowers than its 
near relations, but I can never keep it here for long, 
and at present am not only out of it, but alas ! do not 
know where to get it again. 

Now let us leave our coffee-cups on the seat and go 
into the pergola garden by the path on our right hand. 
Please admire the stem of the great Scots Pine at the 
corner, as it is the finest in the garden, but can be 
matched and perhaps beaten by some up in the wood 
at the back of Queen Elizabeth's ponds, in a fine planting 
of pines about two hundred years old that form the distant 
inky-black outline I see against the western sky all through 
the Winter as the background to the rock garden, but lose in 
Summer, when the still older Limes of the avenue reclothe 
themselves and cut off the distant view. The old Scots- 


A June Afternoon 

man makes this corner rather dry and barren, so as you 
see I have grouped various Lavenders, that can stand a 
long time between their drinks, at his feet. One of the 
best of all is nearly in flower, and even in the bud stage 
is good to look at, for the calyx is a rich purple long 
before the corolla expands. It is a very dwarf form, and 
was given me by a friend who used to come to see the 
garden when staying in the neighbourhood. She told me 
she saw it first in a Scotch garden, and found it was more 
sweetly scented than other Lavenders. I prize it highly, 
and call it Miss Dunington's Lavender after its donor, 
and shall do so till I find it has an older name. I have 
collected all the other dwarf Lavenders I hear of or meet 
with, and so far none of them exactly matches it, or comes 
up to it for dwarfness of habit, richness of colour, sweet- 
ness of scent, and, above all, earliness of flowering. I 
picked some the other day for a lady to smell how good 
it was, and she said, " Why, it's almost as sweet as 
Lavender-water ! " As you stand here by the big Pine 
you can see that I have planted an edging of this Lavender 
down either side of the central walk of the pergola for 
some little distance, and it is now making a good show 
of purple, but as it is rather overhung and shaded by the 
climbers here, it is later than in the border at our side 
and the original old plant in the rock garden, and I fear 
this edging is not going to do itself justice, as it gets rather 
drawn in its late summer growth, but for an open situation 
I think it must be the ideal Lavender for a dwarf hedge. 

Two specially delightful souvenirs of good friends 
greet me on the left in the bed at the north side of the 


My Garden in Summer 

new wall. The first is this singularly glowing, scarlet- 
orange, double Welsh Poppy which took to itself this 
extra glory of colour on Mr, Farrer's rock garden at 
Ingleboroughi I never saw any so deep in colour till 
this race met my amazed eyes on my first visit to him. 
He kindly offered me a babe from the nursery if I would 
risk its taking after its parents, or the alternative risk of 
moving an adult of assured family beauty, and thrust a 
fork into my hand for me to help myself when I chose 
the middle-aged specimen, trusting to my luck and skill 
in moving things, and wanting to see that colour at once 
in my garden, and so here it sits in the shade of the wall, 
as glowingly lovely as in Yorkshire. The other is a very 
dainty, narrow-leaved Veronica, evidently a hybrid child 
of V. paroiflora, by a father unbeknown but probably a 
blue-flowered garden variety. It appeared at Warham 
Rectory, where it so excited my admiration that it 
was not long before a mcely-rooted cutting was set 
aside for me to carry off. It is a very graceful-habited 
plant, and its long, narrow spikes are like those of its 
mother in form, but of varying shades of blue according 
to the ages of the flowers composing them. 

The old pillar at the corner of the wall is worth 
examining, for it is a most beautiful example of old 
brickwork ; the bricks have been rubbed and are most 
beautifully laid, and the fine lines of the mortar between 
them are a great joy to look at. Furthermore, it is of a 
most curious shape, as it forms a diamond in section, and 
the angle that is towards the walk is very acute. Also 
it has a beautifully moulded stone base and capstone of 


A June Afternoon 

the same diamond shape. I believe it is about two 
hundred years old, as it came from Gough Park, a neigh- 
bouring estate. My father pulled down the house on it, 
and, as I have already mentioned, many treasures such as 
scraps of pavement and moulded stones, and the leaden 
ostriches that guard the river bridge, came from its ruins. 
This pillar was standing there at the end of a long wall, 
and when my father planned cutting off a portion of the 
garden for a newly-built house, he found it would be best 
to start a length of wall at right angles to the old one 
from this very corner. I had longed for this lovely pillar 
to live nearer to me, that I might see it oftener, and so found 
it easy work to persuade my kind father to let me try to 
move it. I borrowed his estate masons and talked it over, 
and it ended in cutting it through half-way up, and so 
sacrificing one course of bricks. Then by boarding it 
round and lashing it with strong ropes the two halves 
were got into a cart and brought up here. I argued that 
a pillar of such beauty would be wasted without a wall 
to jut out from as it had always done; and so the wall 
was eventually planned and built to suit the pillar, and 
I obtained what I had long desired, a south wall in 
the garden. The pillar always reminds me of the tale of 
the Irishman who took a button to a charitable lady and 
asked her if she would just be so kind as to sew a shirt 
on to it for him ; and so I call my wall the Irishman's 
shirt. When the pillar was re-erected and its capstone on, 
we hoisted a round stone ball up on to it, and directly I 
stood a little way off to see the effect, I was alarmed to 
see that the top of the capstone sloped downwards away 


My Garden in Summer 

from me so much that the stone looked as if a slight push 
would set it rolling, and off it would go. But the head 
mason declared he had levelled it correctly, so I had the 
spirit-level brought, and I climbed up to investigate for 
myself, and lo and behold ! the bubble centred as perfectly 
as possible. I went down again and looked — we both 
looked ; the stone ball seemed absolutely dangerous — any 
puff of wind must surely blow it off. Then we went 
round and looked at it from the other side, and now could 
hardly believe our eyes, for the capstone seemed to fall 
the other way, and the ball would now be rolled off by a 
breeze from the opposite quarter of the compass ; and 
then it dawned on us that it was the very peculiar slantin- 
dicular (I don't know the right name for it, so that must 
do) outline of the pillar and its cap that produced by its 
too rapidly diminishing perspective an optical illusion of 
not being level and always sloping downward away from 
whichever side you viewed it from. See now how unsafe 
it looks ; you wouldn't dare to stand just on the further 
side of it with a nor'-easter blowing, would you ? When 
I had planted the bed on the south side of the wall full of 
the tender things I had been reserving for such a sheltered 
place for several years past, I showed it, with pride in my 
bold daring, to a friend from Cornwall who knows what 
severe Winters can do even in that favoured land, and he 
said, " What fun you will have next Spring filling up the 
gaps." So many of its doubtfully hardy occupants had 
already come from his generous hand that I think he was 
not surprised when I asked him if that was an invitation to 
visit him next Spring with a hamper. 


A June Afternoon 

As I planted at least thrice as many things as there 
was really room for on that 'wall and the Winters have 
been wonderfully kind to them, there have not been very 
many gaps so far (yes, italics for " so far," Mr. Printer, if 
you please, for you thus help me to touch wood in print). 
I still expect a day will come, though, when even a south 
wall will prove insufficient protection for some of my 
most daring plantings. I^et us look at them, and then 
you can tell me what you think will go the next time our 
thermometers drop to zero, as they did in 1905 ; and 
perhaps you can think of something good you have, a 
seedling or a cutting, to replace the dead monarch. Le 
rot est mart, vive le rot, is a good motto for a garden. 
Nothing is allowed to grow up the button pillar, of course ; 
but we plant up to the very hem of the shirt. Grevillea 
rosmarinifolia is in the border away from the wall, and 
ought to remain and flourish there. So should Colletia 
spinosa, for it is very happy as near as at Aldenham, 
which, however, stands on higher ground than we, and 
escapes our valley frosts. The hybrid Citranges I have 
already written about, but two fine neighbours of theirs 
have hitherto had no mention. Adenocarpus anagyrus is 
just now a mass of pure yellow flowers in spikes, each 
flower as large as those of the Spanish Broom, and exha- 
ling a most delicious scent that I seem to know and cannot 
classify. It is essentially the smell of indoor plants, I 
think a mixture of Cytisus racemosus and Tuberose or 
Stephanotis. I wish this lovely thing had been planted 
against the wall, for I fear it is one of those that a bad 
Winter will shake up. A, decorticans has grown into an 


My Garden in Summer 

equally large shrub, but has never yet flowered so freely 
as anagyrtts; the buds seem to form too early and then 
get destroyed by frosts. A. foliohsa, which does well out 
of doors in Ireland, failed here even though planted 
against the wall. BoussingauUia baselloides was planted 
against the wall and ramped up strings and flung itself 
over to the other side, seized hold of its neighbours and 
tried to strangle them, gave us a few inconspicuous but 
sweetly-scented flowers, and then went to squash and 
looked as shiny and insipid as a boiled lettuce, with the 
first frost. Nevertheless, it came up better than ever next 
year, and I thought just two shoots, and two only, should 
be allowed up the wall that season, so I guided them 
to friendly strings and tore up all the others, and shortly 
after went to gather plants in the Alps. 

On my return I found BoussingauUia had behaved as 
Jack's beanstalkily as ever, so now he has been ejected, 
and Passiflora coeruUa Constance Elliott may have some 
peace and be able to produce her lovely, carved ivory 
flowers without a cold poultice of BoussingauUia leaves 
slapped on to their white faces. Acacia Baileyana was my 
wildest bid for a startling achievement in acclimatisation, 
and my most decisive snub from Fate, for next Spring it 
was as dead as Queen Anne. So was Plumbago capensis, 
of which I had hoped a breaking up from the base would 
be possible, and if the wall were not so crowded by now 
I would try, try again with this plant. Mutisia Clematis 
came up a shattered invalid next season, but never again, 
and Manettia bicolor was not much happier, for though it 
reappeared it was too late to make much show before 


A June Afternoon 

frost cut it down again, although in the first season, in 
spite of being very small when put out, it had flowered 
well, and kept on after sharp frosts had killed other things. 
A third season it was still more unhappy, and hadn't the 
heart to twine up its string, and now it has gone. Olearia 
insignis at the foot of the wall, where the house for shelter 
during showers is built out and so screens it from the 
east, is growing leaves that look ridiculously large for its 
diminutive stature, but as it is still quite a babe has not yet 
given us one of its Celmisia-like flowers. Myrtus iarentina, 
with its close-set, deep green leaves, looks happy right 
in the corner, and Clematis Armandii has proved a great 
success up the pillar of the house, and is now half over 
the roof and right across the front of the house. Its tri- 
foliate leaves are wonderfully handsome, whether the light 
green, glossy fellows of this year or the duller, deep green, 
hard-as-leather veterans of last year or the year before. 
Solanum jasminoides is trying to cover up as much of the 
eastern end of the roof as the Clematis has of the western, 
and is quite welcome to it. Round its bare stem grows 
a very handsome form of Asparagus acuti/olius, named as 
var. orientalis at Kew, and said to be a Palestine variety 
that is found up to the very top of Mt. Tabor, but my plant 
originated from a berry a good friend gathered for me 
in Sicily. It is handsomer than the ordinary acutifolii*s, 
as the ciadodes are thicker and of a richer green. But I 
am fond of acutifolius in its natural form too, and have a 
grand old specimen in the rock garden, that came to me 
as a fledgeling from the woods near Hyferes. It flowered 
freely one Autumn some years ago, but too late to ripen 

145 K 

My Garden in Summer 

fruit, and one Winter it was cut to the ground by frost, 
and again one Spring by me, as it was such a tangle of 
prickles, that I shrank from the toil of clearing out the 
dead growths. I see it will have to be shorn down again 
soon by one of us for the same reason, but I hope Winter 
will leave it for me to do. The shoots do not grow so 
high if they have no mass of old growths to pierce through, 
else I should cut down this rock garden specimen oftener. 
Gaya Lyallii, formerly called Plagianthus, is growing well 
on the wall, much faster than another planted in the open. 
When I put it here it still bore its infantile leaves with 
their crenate edges, and it was not until last year that 
it shot out flowering growths with the adult leaves, some- 
thing between those of a Lime and a Mulberry, and this 
season these shoots have borne the beautiful white flowers, 
like extra delicately formed Cherry blossoms. Eucalyp- 
tus pulveruUnta has done very well against the wall, and 
has made quite a stout stem, and branched out into a 
large head, in spite of our having decapitated it twice 
already. I think I shall now leave it for winter winds to 
cut back, as it seems to want to look over the wall so much, 
and it does look so handsome and astonishingly blue 
appearing above the red bricks when seen from behind. 

Some of the autumn-flowering things I will leave for 
future mention, so will pass them now and notice that 
Banksia Roses are running up, and, I hope, will some 
day scramble about the stone ball on the top of the 
rather clumsy-looking square pillar, built at the opposite 
end of the wall to that occupied by the button pillar. 
The wall is continued at a right angle here, after the big 


A June Afternoon 

pillar, and is ramped down until it ends in a shorter 
pillar, and this low portion has been planted with Dios- 
pyros Kaki, grown from seeds of some extra good Per- 
simmons I bought at the Army and Navy Stores, and 
having eaten and enjoyed them, I thought I would plant 
some of their pips. They are slowly growing up the wall, 
but are far too young to think of flowering yet. A 
prettily variegated form of the white Jasmine scrambles 
about on the short pillar, which supports a very fine old 
lead boar which, like the ostriches, came frOm Gough 
Park, and all three are figured in Mr. Weaver's book on 
English Lead. 

As we return along the flagged walk in front of the 
wall I want you to look at a curious plant spreading on 
the ground. It has narrow leaves of a coppery-bronze 
colour, turning to a deep green as they age, about two 
inches long and a quarter of an inch wide, with charm- 
ingly-toothed edges. The stems hug the ground, and it 
forms a close carpet of these handsome leaves, which 
rather suggest some Berberis. But it is a Bramble, 
Rubtis parvus, and remarkable for being the only Bramble 
from New Zealand, with unifoliate leaves. Looking 
among them you will see it has rather pretty white 
blossoms, somewhat like those of a Wild Strawberry. 
It is said to bear large, juicy, yellow fruits at home in 
New Zealand, but I have seen no sign of them here 
as yet. Twining up a support is a nice young specimen 
of Rubus cissoides pauperatus, sometimes erroneously 
called R. australis, another New Zealander, whose leaf- 
blades are reduced to a mere scrap at the end of each 


My Garden in Summer 

of the three long midribs. These midribs are, each 
of them, some three inches long, and freely beset with 
white prickles. The two side leaSets start away at right 
angles from the central one, which looks like a continua- 
tion of the petiole, and so forms a cross if a single leaf is 
examined, but when looked at from a little distance the 
tangle of shoots appears like a confused, leafless mass of 
stalks and prickles. It is known in English gardens in 
three distinct forms, this one without leaf-blades, and 
one with tbell-developed, dark green leaf-blades, and the 
third intermediate and very variable as to the amount of 
leaf-blade it possesses. I believe they are called Bush 
Lawyers in New Zealand, as it is said that if they do not 
get hold of you in one way they will in. some other. The 
leafless form has a very quaint effect if kept closely tied 
in to a central support, looking from a distance like a 
pillar of smoke, but it is a nasty scratchy plant to handle. 
Rubtis bambusarum covers one of the pergola poles, and 
is attractive when full of young white growths and new 
leaves showing their bright silvery undersides. Its flowers 
are hideous, with minute petals of an unpleasantly acid 
purple-crimson, and the orange-coloured fruits too small and 
dull in colour to be attractive except to birds and small boys. 
Close by it grows a fine old bush of Viburnum iomentosum 
plicatum, and now its horizontally spreading boughs are 
clad from stem to tip with large white snowballs, and it 
is as good a sight as anything in the garden. It is a pity 
it is so much shut in here, for it grows just where the 
Vine pergola and the main pergola join, and has not suffi- 
cient space to sprawl out as far as it might ; but, after all, it 


Tlie \"inc I'eryol.i and \"il)Liriuiiu limiLnUi^mn wir. plicauim. (See p. 148.) 

A June Afternoon 

is sheltered, and perhaps flowers better for the occasional 
trimming we are bound to give it ; anyway, it would be 
hard this season to find a vacant space on its boughs to 
stick on another half dozen snowballs. 

Round its feet I have gathered a collection of varieties 
of Solomon's Seal, results of the open eye that I keep, 
when in other gardens and subalpine woods for forms I 
do not recognise as being already at home here. These 
range in height from about six inches to eighteen, and 
vary much in size and form of flower and the date of 
flowering. Of course they are but foliage plants now in 
June, but very beautiful still with their arching stems and 
rich green leaflets, but to keep them so we have to be ever 
on the watch for a villainous Sawfly, whose ugly grey 
larvae if unchecked will reduce the leaves to bare ribs, 
destroying their beauty, and of course weakening the plant. 
The flies appear in April and early May, and are jet black, 
wings and all ; they fly in the sunshine, and are easy to 
catch as they are rather poor as aeronauts, but rely on one 
successful trick for escape ; this is not looping the loop, 
but dropping to earth and trusting to overhead foliage or 
cracks in the soil for hiding. I try annually what my 
horny hands can do to destroy the mothers of my future 
enemies, and I find clapping my hands sharply on a buz- 
zing black lady is a better and quicker plan than using 
a butterfly net to catch her. They do not feed on any- 
thing else but Polygonatum and Convallaria, so far as I 
know, and so we ought to be able to get rid of them 
by watching the beds of Lily of the Valley and Solomon's 
Seal for several succeeding seasons. I do not think you 


My Garden in Summer 

could easily spray the plants sufl&ciently to kill the larvae, 
as they feed under the leaves for the most part of their 
lives, and a waxy powder prevents the under surface of 
these leaves from being wetted. So we watch in June for 
signs of the foe, of which the first is a httle network of 
windows on one of the lower leaves of a stem, and if 
detected early a single application of the human thumb 
and forefinger is sufficient to reduce a whole family to 
pulp, as at that early stage they live and feed in a crowd. 
Two out of our three bushes of Buddleia giobosa reside 
close by where we now stand, and are providing free 
drinks for the bees and a delicious scent of heather-honey 
for my nose if I apply it to the golden cowslip-balls in 
miniature, after I have shaken off the bees, which might 
not behave kindly to my proboscis, mistaking it for a 
rival to their own in the honey-gathering trade. What a 
glorious thing this old plant is when in full vigour, and how 
curious that it is so seldom you see a really fine specimen. 
In a very severe Winter it is liable to get badly cut back in 
an exposed situation, but it is very worthy of a sheltered 
nook and careful treatment, which I take it means the 
pruning out of old flowering wood and weak shoots as soon 
as possible after flowering is over. It is altogether wrong 
to prune at all in Spring, as one can do with the Chinese 
newcomers the B. variabilis forms, as globosa flowers on 
wood ripened in Summer, they on the same year's growths. 
So B. variabilis can be cut back to the bone of the main stem, 
or even down to ground level, and will throw out all the 
more vigorous shoots for it, and flower at the end of 
each of them. 


A June Afternoon 

The form known as var. tnagnifica is out and away 
the best, and we have grubbed up most of the others 
to make room for more of it, but have left a few 
seedling forms that we value for flowering rather earlier 
or later, and so prolonging the season of the banquets 
for butterflies by day and ball suppers for moths by night. 
One of the greatest charms of these purple Buddleias is 
this attractiveness to insects, for if there is a Peacock, 
Painted Lady, or Admiral Butterfly in the neighbour- 
hood it is certain to spend many of the sunny hours 
flitting over or sucking at the long purple spikes, and 
driving off a Large Cabbage White or two from a specially 
desirable bunch of honeypots ; but the Small Tortoise- 
shells seem capable of holding their own, and so are 
respected by the larger insects. Then after dark the 
Buddleia spikes are visited by most of the Noctuae then 
on the wing, and an acetylene lamp reveals their identity, 
and the rarities are easy to box from the lower spikes or 
to tap into a net from those over one's head. These 
B. variabilis forms will grow into regular trees if carefully 
treated when young and got up into a good strong stem 
or two ; and another way in which we like to grow them 
here is to tie them in to a tall pole and cut them back 
hard every Spring, which treatment produces a pillar of 
silvery shoots, and later on, generally late in July, the 
shoots hang out gracefully, each one ending in a cluster 
of flowers. 

Do you know the style of beauty of a King Crab ? 
There used to be a tank of them at the Brighton 
Aquarium in my young, and its palmy, days, and they 


My Garden in Summer 

have always been well represented in the Naples Aquarium, 
which to my idea is one of the best things in that rather 
squalid city. These King Crabs, you may remember, 
have a large, hooded shell that covers them completely, 
as would a dish-cover, when they sit down on the sand 
floor, and it has a look of leather but is of a beautiful 
blue-grey colour. Close to my Buddleias is a plant that 
always reminds me of those large crustaceans, Funkia 
Fortunei, so large and round and blue are its leaves. In 
fact I can almost fancy one will rise up on spindly toes 
and scuttle away to sit down in the shade of the big pink 
double Deutzia in the centre of the bed. Allium Ostrows- 
kianum catches one's eye too, as it is of an unusual shade 
of light crimson, and stands up well here backed by the 
leaves of some clumps of single Paeonies mostly out of 
flower, P. Veitchii alone bearing a few of its drooping, 
beautifully formed, but alas 1 magenta flowers. Its habit 
and much-divided leaves make it a very attractive plant, 
though, and until I can get a white variety of it I must 
forgive its violent colouring. Here comes the rain that has 
threatened all the afternoon, but only a shower I fear, for 
this dry soil needs a good soaking just now. So we will 
make for the little garden house in the wall, and you as a 
visitor shall sit in the chair and I will perch on the carved 
oak bench and tell you its history. It was once upon a 
time the manorial pew in the church at Sandringham, and 
when the first royal owner of the estate sat upon it he 
decided to have it altered, and I do not wonder at his 
decision, for it is narrow, slopes at a most uncomfortable 
angle even for slim folk, and has a knobby pattern carved 


A June Afternoon 

on the back that is not comfy to lean against. So out it 
went to make way for more suitable sittings. This old 
bench was presented to the head of the firm entrusted 
with the work, and he kept it by him for many years, 
intending to have it made up into some piece of furniture. 
This he never achieved, and at his death it was sold. 
An old friend of his and of mine who knew its history 
bought it at the sale, and when I built this little sheltei 
offered it to me, so here it is, and as soon as the shower 
is over I shall be glad to get off it, for in spite of its 
associations it is not pleasant to sit on for long. How 
fresh some things look even after so short a shower ! 
The raindrops add a wonderful beauty, for instance, to a 
fine Lady's Mantle that grows close by, and is happy 
even in the chinks of the steps at the end of the Vine 
pergola ; I received it from Cambridge Botanic Garden 
as Alchemilla grandiflora, but it is the leaves, not the 
flowers, that are its notable feature. They are four inches 
across when vigorous, of a very tender shade of greyish- 
green, and covered with fine, silky hairs, which help 
their cup-like shape to hold raindrops which glitter like 
drops of quicksilver. A few minutes of rain is sufficient 
to refresh the large leaves of Petasites japonica gigantea 
which grows just across the path and between us and the 
pond. A really well-developed leaf is nearly a yard 
across, but to get them in good form they must have 
both manure and moisture. I do what I can for them ; 
they generally get a Spring mulch, and through the 
Summer we put the contents of the box of the lawn- 
mower under the umbrellas of their great leaves to try 


My Garden in Summer 

to keep some moisture in the soil for their thirsty roots. 
But on hot days they get very limp and tired, and sit 
down until evening comes, when they again open their 
umbrellas, but now after the shower they look as though 
they never dreamed of flagging. 

This is the plant one sees in Japanese prints and 
pictured on china vases and fans being used by a peasant 
in a straw jacket, huge clogs and no stockings, splash- 
ing through the mud and rain and holding one huge leaf 
over his head by its stalk just as we would an umbrella. 
But Campanula patula looked better before the shower, for 
when its flowers get wet they hang down, and the frail 
segments of the corolla often stick to one another, and the 
seamy side only is shown, and they look crumpled. On 
dry days its wide-open bells are very cheery, and of such 
a warm purple-blue as one does not often see. They 
closely resemble the flowers of C. abietina, but are more 
useful to me here, for I cannot keep that fitful, fretful 
beauty for long, and even when it does appear happy, 
it makes a mat oL rosettes of foliage, and perhaps sends 
up only three flower-stems to the square foot, scarcely 
paying for the space it occupies. I flrst saw C. patula 
growing wild in the hedges of the Wye Valley, where it 
is very plentiful and very beautiful, especially along the 
road between Tintern and Monmouth, but I brought my 
original plants from the woods round Arcachon in the 
Landes district. It is only a biennial at most, but sows 
itself so freely in cool, half-shaded situations that I always 
get more plants than 1 need, in the rock garden and these 
borders behind the Vine pergola. 



A June Afternoon 

This season some especially fine white forms appeared 
that I have saved seed of, hoping I may obtain a white 
race from them some day. It is rather difficult to pur- 
chase the seed of this common plant, which frequently 
makes a sheet of purple in alpine meadows, as it has been 
confused by seedsmen with C. Rapunculus, which is not 
nearly so good in colour, and has a much stiffer habit 
and more crowded bells, in place of the open, sky- 
gazing cups of pattda. The wide, round, winter leaves of 
the large rosettes of C. Rapunculus and the fleshy white 
turnip-like edible root from which it gets its name, easily 
distinguish Rapunculus from patula, which has narrow leaves, 
a thin tap-root, and makes very neat, flat rosettes for its 
winter form. C. Loreyi is well worth growing also, and 
will sow itself like these other two, but in sunny banks for 
choice. It has very large flowers for the slender thread- 
like stalks ; they are like magnified blooms of patula, but 
C Loreyi has an untidy habit, and is best if scrambling among 
some short sticks or thin dwarf shrubs. Its stems and 
leaf-stalks are armed with minute, curved hooks that help 
it to cling to anything it touches. There is a good white 
form as well as the purple one, and it can be successfully 
grown as an annual if sown early and thinned out severely, 
but if an Autumn-germinated seed can be preserved through 
the Winter to start as a youngster with four or five leaves 
in Spring, it will make a larger plant by flowering time. 
Another Campanula that gives the best results here when 
treated as a biennial is C. barbata. It is very happy in the 
sand moraines, and very lovely when in flower, whether it 
be the azure-blue form or the pure white. If it is allowed 


My Garden in Summer 

to go to seed self-sown babes will spring up in plenty, 
but far too often where they would smother some delicate 
neighbour if left to grow into wide rosettes. If the stems 
are cut away as the blossoms fade, one generally gets 
a second but less magnificent display of flowers in late 

I wish it could be induced to grow in our hay meadows 
as I have seen it doing in Tyrol, but of course one of the 
rarest plants in alpine meadows is grass, the contents of 
our best herbaceous beds and gayest rock gardens forming 
the bulk of the hay. Campanula Alliomi is happiest in 
the granite-chip moraine, but spreads so far from its 
central point of planting year by year, that I am afraid 
it will exhaust the soil and die out eventually. The 
photograph reproduced opposite p. 158 shows a plant 
two years after it was transferred to this bed from Mont 

Dianthus microhpis and D. arvergnensis promise to 
spread into compact cushions in the chips faster than in 
ordinary soil. The former covers itself with its stemless 
blooms three times in each season. D. neglectus and 
D. alpinus (see plate, p. 154) are not happy in moraine, 
but both species do well in good border soil in flat pockets 
of the rock garden, and D. alpinus generally flowers twice 
in the Summer, the large rosy flowers hiding its leaves for 
a week at a time. 




So many people say, " What splendid opportunities you 
must have for Water Lilies and aquatic plants with the New 
River running through the garden ! " — so many, in fact, 
that some day I shall push one of them into it instead of 
explaining that, if I did plant a Water Lily in the River, 
the Water Board's officials would soon rake it out again, 
and, even if they did not, it would catch its death of cold, 
as people used to say when I was young, which was before 
the days of appendicitis and the general recognition of 
bacteria as causes of mortality. The New River water 
comes chiefly from chalk wells of great depth, and there- 
fore is hard enough to look blue, and cold enough in 
Summer to make you look blue if you were in it for long. 
Besides, its banks are made of clay, pommelled and 
puddled and slapped and banged with wooden slappers 
to a degree of watertightness, solidity, and neat level ap- 
pearance that admits of nothing but turf margins. So the 
River is banned, taboo, verboden for planting, but above 
all, unsuitable. The pond is almost as bad. It too owes 
its watertightness to puddled clay, and most of its water to 
the same sources as the River. So it is the more easily 
grown aquatics that do best in and around it. Now, 


My Garden in Summer 

what is there to make boast of, then, in this heart- 
shaped pond ? In what we may call the left auricle are 
many wild British plants and but few exotics. The most 
conspicuous group is a mass of Scirpus lacusiris, the true 
Bulrush, the plant from which rush-bottom chairs obtain 
their name and the soft material for their seats. It is a 
grand water plant, with its six feet high, gradually taper- 
ing, cylindrical, leafless stems, which are a deep blue-green 
all the Summer, and turn brown in Winter. I brought 
mine from one of the meres at Wretham in Norfolk, and 
it reminds me of many happy hours spent in the boats on 
the Mickle Mere, watching birds or hunting for plants and 
insects in or round it, and the others of that interesting 
archipelago reversed, where the sandy flat represents the 
sea, and is dotted with meres instead of islands. It has 
grown well here, although there are no Crested Grebes to 
nest in it, as at Wretham, nor Coots, Tufted Ducks, or 
Mergansers, and the many other jolly birds I have so often 
watched scuttering into its thick tufts for hiding. Here, 
instead, it gives a home to many a brood of baby Moor- 
hens, and when we cut it down in the Spring cleaning we 
leave a central tuft for the first nest of the season, thereby 
saving the marginal tufts of Leucojum aesHvum or L. Her- 
nandezii from being seized upon to shelter it. I have 
heard Moorhens accused of evil deeds among choice 
flowers in gardens, but have never yet directly traced any 
damage to their sealing-wax bills, so I encourage them to 
flirt their white tails and scatter across the water and cry 
" meeyoop " as much as they please in this garden. 

I was very nearly annoyed with them, though, one 



season, when a heavy rain lasted for some days, and 
brooks were flooding the meadows. Instinct taught the 
Moorhens that the water in the pond ought to rise too, so 
they added two stories to their nest in a great hurry, and 
piled it up with the tender green leaves of my Japanese 
Irises. But I thought it so clever and provident of them, 
and so greatly admired the extraordinary effect of the 
upper two-thirds of the nest being composed of bright 
green Iris leaves while the lower third was of the usual 
dead sticks and Scirpus stems, that I found it easy to 
forgive them. Water-voles are quite another matter, and 
are condemned to be shot or trapped as soon as possible 
when discovered. They chewed down a fine Phormium 
tenax once in Winter, and will chop up good plants into 
bundles of sham Asparagus. Last year one barked several 
Willows and other shrubs to get fibre for a Winter nest. 
Further, they have such an unpleasant habit of running 
along the margin and beating their path into a muddy 
bare track, so, in spite of their prettiness, they are not 
to be admitted in a garden. I once caught a young one, 
and thought how much I should like to tame it, so I 
rigged up what I thought a lovely home for it in a large 
aquarium tank. There was a pool of water occupying 
half the tank, and a sloping bank nicely turfed, with some 
stones laid among it, to make a nice dark hole to live in. 
It looked quite pretty and natural when finished, and I 
introduced my captive to its home, believing it would 
feel happy there, as, of course, I had provided plenty of 
provender. Well, next morning it had reduced the whole 
arrangement, save the stones, to one puddle of uniform 


My Garden in Summer 

soft mud, and the rat himself was the only clean-looking 
thing in that tank. So I caught him, and he bit my finger 
to the bone in his pretty, grateful way, and I took him 
back to the brook and plopped him in to live and make a 
mess there. 

Butomus umbellatus came also from Wretham, and did 
well here until some common Sedges grew up among it 
and rather smothered it. Now we have been pulling out 
the Sedges for several seasons and have nearly got them 
under, and so I hope the Flowering Rush will become 
strong again, for it is such a beautiful thing when in 
flower, and its leaves are so graceful and narrow, con- 
sidering the size of its heads of soft salmon flowers. 
Bog Bean, Menyantkes trifoliata, from the Norfolk Broads, 
does almost too well, and I have to curtail its ambitious 
schemes for filling the pond, and keep it back to a large 
patch on this side and another smaller one at the other 
side of the pond. The fringed flowers are wonderfully 
beautiful, rising up from the water among its large trefoil 
leaves. I was told in Ireland that in some parts it is 
claimed as the Shamrock, and a totally different legend 
from that which is told of the Clover and Wood Sorrel 
is connected with it : how that St. Patrick and a disciple 
came to a sheet of water and found no means of 
crossing ; the disciple wished to turn back, but the Saint 
refused, saying that as St. Peter had walked on the water, 
so by faith they ought to do. Then the two prayed and 
set forth and crossed the water on foot, and, as they 
neared the opposite shore, the disciple said, " We ought to 
have some token of remembrance of this marvellous day," 



1;\ ALir;_;,n'et AA'atcnici.I. 
(Sec ji. 2SS.' 


and looking down he saw the threefold leaves of the 
Bog Bean, and gathered some, as they seemed to him a 
symbol of the Holy Trinity, by whose power they had 
miraculously walked on the water. 

The yellow Buck Bean now appears in the tenth 
edition of the London Catalogue as Nymphoides peltatum, 
Rendle and Britten, and sounds altogether a new plant 
from foreign parts, and no relation of Limnanthemum 
nymphaeoides or Villarsia, as we have familiarly known it 
for years past. But as both the British Museum list, where 
the strange words first appear, and are dubbed comb, 
nov., and also the London Catalogue agree, I suppose we 
must now call it as they do. I brought it from the Ouse, 
between St. Ives and Huntingdon, where it is as plentiful 
as it also is in the backwaters of the Thames. If only it 
would give us more of its lovely yellow flowers and fewer 
of its floating leaves what a gem it would be, even though 
it still continued to spread itself over a pond as rapidly as 
it does now. My Water Soldier, Stratiotes aloideSj dates 
from a very pleasant cruise in a wherry from Lowestoft 
to Norwich, with occasional landings to hunt Natterjack 
Toads at Reedham, Lepidoptera in a fen near Brundall, and 
plants from a Broad in the same neighbourhood. When 
we landed at Norwich it looked as though it were going to 
be difficult i<\ carry the large, wet, pineapple-leaved Water 
Soldiers any further until my kind host offered his bath 
towel, the largest ever seen, for the purpose. With its 
four corners knotted together, it made a glorious recep- 
tacle for the muddy collection of plants, but I expect I 
looked a somewhat strange figure carrying it on my back, 

l6i L 

My Garden in Summer 

with black mud oozing out of its lower parts, and with a 
breeding-cage full of toads under my arm ; of course 
we met all our smartest acquaintances at every turn of 
the road and every station we had to change at. I don't 
care, and here are my Water Soldiers as lively as ever. 
They remain at the bottom of the pond eleven months 
of the year in a most peaceable manner, but during 
August they float up to the surface and protrude their 
swords and bayonets and warlike armour, and then their 
fleeting white flowers appear to be fertilised, and when 
this is accomplished the plant sinks down again. A 
Norfolk plant I should have done well to leave behind is 
the Ivy-leaved Duckweed, Lemna irisulca, for although 
a few sprays of its curious growths, always starting off 
at right angles to each other, are pretty to look at, yet 
a pond full of them is no more lovely than green pea- 
soup, and we have to scoop out a barrow-load of it 
now and then in Summer. For the greater part of the 
year it is innocuous, because it is not a floating species, 
and it is only in the height of Summer that it becomes 
so prolific and arrives at the surface, but unfortunately 
then so many of the elderly portions lose their cheery, 
transparent greenness, and fade to unpleasant yellow and 
dirty white shades that give a decaying effect to the mass. 
It is not so bad as another of my ill-advised importa- 
tions, Azolla carolittiana, which I came across twenty years 
ago, in ponds between Bayonne and Biarritz. In the 
February I spent in that neighbourhood there had been 
sharp frosts, and this wonderful water-fern had turned to 
a brilliant red that showed up from a long distance among 



the grey heathland. So I collected a little boxful, filling 
one of the glass-bottomed piU-boxes we entomologists use 
so much, and I sent it home, with instructions that it should 
be kept in a saucer in a greenhouse. When I got back my 
red weed was growing and had increased in beauty, for its 
delicate, velvety, finely-cut fronds were green and crimson, 
and fascinatingly interesting to play with, to push under 
water and watch arise out of it as dry as ever, but perhaps 
carrying a few drops on the fronds, to glitter like diamonds 
in sunlight. I thought a patch or two would look well 
on the pond, so in May we turned it loose in a sheltered 
bay where the Bulrushes and other big plants would keep 
it in smooth water. It grew and increased and, as I hoped, 
looked very attractive in irregular-shaped patches of 
emerald green velvet floating on the water. I believed 
from only having seen it in greenhouses previously to 
meeting it at Biarritz that it was tender, so we carefully 
saved a saucerful to keep in heat when Winter came and 
it began to turn red. The following Winter was severe, 
and it was frozen into the ice, and then skated on, and it 
perished out of doors, so we released our saucerful 
next Spring, expecting a like pleasant result to the last 
season's, but then our troubles began. The beastly thing 
had been lying low till then, and suddenly started to show 
us what it could do. It filled its bay, it appeared in groups 
of two or three fronds all round the pond, and before June 
was over we were removing two or three barrow-loads 
from time to time in order to see the water at all. " Never 
mind. Winter will kill it," we said, and we hopefully watched 
it turn crimson, and did not trouble to save a saucerful this 


My Garden in Summer 

time. It froze into the ice as usual, but when the ice 
melted it looked lovelier than ever, just a more brilliant 
crimson, and I must own if it would grow no faster in 
Summer than in Winter, and remain red, it would be well 
worth the eighteenpence a frond an enterprising nursery- 
man was at one time asking for it — yea, and selling it too, 
though many customers lived to regret their purchase. 
After a shower or heavy dew, when a patch is covered with 
dewdrops, Streeter's shop window cannot compare with it 
for iridescent sparkles if the sun is just right to set the 
show agoing. After two more seasons of raking off and 
carting away we got rid of it from the pond, but by this 
time it had got into the rock garden pools, and from thence 
it refused to be evicted. One day I carried some rushes 
from those pools to plant on the bank of the cut-off back- 
water of the New River that divides some of our meadows 
and woods, and I noticed a decayed-looking scrap or two 
of Azolla among their roots, and picked out all I could 
see, but some must have escaped my watchful eye, or else 
waterfowl carried it there on their feet, for before that 
Summer was half way through quite a mile of this back- 
water was solidly green from bank to bank with Azolla. It 
was so level and turfy in appearance that a small boy who 
came from London with a cricket eleven that was playing 
our home team, wandered up the river bank, and thought 
it looked just right for a run, and was much astonished 
when he went through the Azolla and had to be helped 
out and dried in the kitchen before he could teach his 
fellow-scholars in some London Board-school the Nature- 
study lesson he had learnt by experience. I believe no- 



thing short of the drying up of the river will dislodge the 
AzoUa now, for it fruits every season, and is in great request 
for museums and colleges when the backs of the fronds 
are bearing the large, green spore-cases. Even if we could 
get it all off the surface some Winter, I fear spores innu- 
merable would arise from the bottom and germinate. So 
take warning, and if you must grow Azolla caroliniana, only 
put it in a small pool or tub, where it can be kept safely 
in durance vile without a chance of escape. 

One has to run a great risk in planting most water- 
plants, because, if they grow at all, they often grow too 
much, for so many of them indulge in runners that bury 
themselves deeply in the mud, any small portion of which 
is capable of producing a new plant if left behind, when a 
raking and scraping has removed the upper portions of the 
troublesome spreader. The Sagittarias are among the worst 
offenders, though some of them could be ranked among 
the most useful of water-plants if only they would form 
neat clumps, instead of rushing round a pond by means 
of underground hollow shoots that produce a solid tuber 
here and there, which, buried in the mud, starts to grow 
into a plant next Spring, long after the connecting runners 
have decayed away. Thus you never know where to 
expect Sagiitaria j'aponica or S. variaeformis after the first 
year of planting, whether at the side, in the middle, or 
half way up the bank. In both species the large white 
flowers are very beautiful, and look so well above the 
handsome triangular leaves that give these plants their 
names, both Latin and English. Our native Arrowhead, 
S. sagittifolia, is more inclined to form a dense colony 


My Garden in Summer 

than to wander, but is not nearly so handsome as the 
other two of the restless habits, which are both playing 
the Wandering Jew in the pond, and again in the rock 
garden pools. The species I want more of is 5. gracilis, 
with beautifully slender arrow-heads ; but although I 
have planted it more than once, it never reappears in 
Spring, so I fear is not hardy enough for me. Water 
Lilies dislike the pond somehow, and I have dissolved 
many shillings by investing them in Nymphaeas for its 
waters to kill and reduce to their constituent chemicals, 
and I vowed I would buy no more. Then various pink 
forms were offered me, and I could not resist experi- 
menting with them, and so it came about that this 
Summer several kinds made a fair show. And as the 
best of them I reckon James Brydon, whose beautiful 
soft pink flowers are so chubby and round that they 
rather take the shine out of a starry Nymphaea Laydekeri 
close by. Of the Marliacea group albida is the sole 
survivor of many, yet they are the strongest growers of 
all in most waters. The common Reed, Arundo Phrag- 
mites, was planted at the margin, but soon walked out 
into deep water, and now has to be prevented from going 
too far and owning the pond. I find pulling up the 
young spears where they are not wanted checks its 
progress pretty effectually, even though the running 
rhizomes may not always come along with them, for 
I hope and believe the loss of the green upper portion 
weakens and kills them if its removal is persisted in. A 
good colony of this common British plant is worth a 
place among the best water-plants for the sake of its 



blue-green leaves all pointing one way, according to the 
direction of the prevailing wind, and its handsome glossy 
brown flowers during the Summer months, and then its 
Autumn tints of yellow and orange with the fluff of its 
seeds above, and finally the Winter effect of bare buff 
stems. These should be cut down every second year at 
least, to keep the reed-bed strong and vigorous, as young 
shoots from the rhizomes grow much stronger and taller 
and look handsomer than the two or more that will 
spring from the nodes of an old cane. Along rivers and 
in reed-beds in the Norfolk Broads it is evident at a 
glance that the stoutest and strongest reeds are those that 
are cut annually, and a fine sight some of them are with 
their seven-foot-high canes bending before a breeze, while 
their leaves hiss and whisper " King Midas has ass's 
ears " as plainly and sibilantly now as they are charged 
with having done in Phrygia so very long ago. There 
is a good golden variegated form of the Reed, but I have 
never been successful in establishing it here. I believe 
it soon runs back green if grown in water, and I cannot 
spare it a semi-juicy spot, as they are too scarce here for 
a mere Reed to have one. 

I have a plant that does well in deep water and is very 
handsome, but has so far never shown a sign of flowering 
here, and I hear of its showing the same obstinate barren- 
ness in other British gardens. This surprises me, as it 
grows so freely and looks so happy, and it annoys me be- 
cause without seeing its flowers it seems impossible to 
clear up the mystery that surrounds its identity. 

It came to me as Zizania canadensis, Wild Rice, but both 


My Garden in Summer 

the Kew Index and Hand-list ignore this name, so most 
likely it has never been duly published. The Hand-list 
gives a Z. latifolia, native of Siberia and Japan, but the Index 
declares this is only a synonym of Z. aquatica, to which 
plant it permits no further range than North America. 
Now Z. aquatica is an annual, and I have had it here, 
and don't want it again, whereas I should howl aloud at 
the loss of my perennial stately plant that provides such a 
fine effect as a contrast to the stiff blue stems of Scirpus, 
in that its wide, flat leaves arch over most gracefully, and 
are of a brilliant pea green all through the Summer. I 
think it may be Zizaniopsis Miliacea from Ohio, and if only 
it would condescend to flower, the figure and description 
in Britton and Brown's Flora of the United States would 
soon prove whether or no I am right. By occasional 
reinforcements of old pot plants we have maintained a 
small group of the White Arum, Richardia africana, in the 
deeper end of the pond, where its roots are always below 
freezing line, and the white spathes are as effective as 
anything of their season against a background of Scirpus 
maritimus backed again by a Yew that feathers down to 
the bank, which is covered by creeping Ivy, with the hand- 
some, pale-green leaves oiPetasites palmata appearing through 
the dark carpet, the whole group making a charming pic- 
ture that has painted itself without any aid from my hand, 
save respect for its scheme and a studied neglect. Cyperus 
longus is much like this last Scirpus in general appearance, 
but forms a closer tuft. It does very well half on the bank 
in a bed of soil, but its toes reaching the water ; that is 
to say, in one of my favourite schemes for outwitting 



puddled clay and stiff, perpendicular banks. I stick 
some short stakes into the clay bottom of the pond to 
mark out the new territory we mean to wrest from 
the water, sometimes laying a few twigs inside them, 
but generally I find turves sufficient for the purpose of 
keeping the well-mixed soil I bundle in behind them from 
slipping away into the water ; and once these beds are full 
of roots the pegs can be removed from the water front. 

The Galingale, Cyperus longus, revels in a bed so 
formed, and is very graceful owing to the long, leafy 
bracts that hang from the top of the flower-stems just 
beneath the bunches of flowers. It is useful for tall vases 
during Summer, and looks like some extra superfine form 
of the Madagascar Reed, Cyperus altemifolius. I am very 
fond of having a vase on a flower table given over 
entirely to greenery and stood among other vases with 
masses of bright-coloured flowers in them. I dislike ferns 
cut and put in a vase with flowers, but love a vase of 
one kind of fern placed among the flowers ; sprays of 
Purple Plum and Purple Almond look well, especially with 
pink and mauve Sweet Peas or Irises ; and branches of the 
Silver Maple or Ghost Tree, Acer Negundo, have a softening 
effect among large vases of Delphiniums. White flowers 
would do a similar work, perhaps, but one does not want 
too many flowers in a room — sometimes their scent may 
be too strong — and then these unmixed bunches of foliage 
are very useful, and Galingale is delightfully light when cut 
full-length for a tall cut-glass vase. 

These water-side beds are very suitable for Globe- 
flowers, Calthas, Iris Kaempferi, and such plants, which 


My Garden in Summer 

have already been alluded to as growing in them, and 
also make the right home for Typha minima, which unlike 
its giant relations prefers to grow on land to being sub- 
merged, and is very attractive when doing well, its leaves 
being so wonderfully slender. But the little Cat's-tails it 
produces are so short and round they are quite unlike the 
caudal appendage of any cat I ever saw. A plant I used 
to call in less enlightened days Erythrochaete palmatifida is 
now Senecio japonicus, but looks none the worse for being 
dumped into a family which includes Groundsel. It is 
a good plant for the water side ; its large leaves are cut 
up into most fanciful ornamental fingers growing out of 
a small palm, and its yard-high stems bear rich orange- 
yellow flowers of a great size. It is especially effective 
planted among grassy-leaved things, or even in a colony 
of the Canadian Osmunda, Onoclea sensibilis, I find this 
fern does very well on a pond bank, and will even make 
a mat of roots running out into the water, and as they 
become sufficiently interlaced they are followed by the 
rhyzome and then bear fronds. It has such a tender 
young oak-leaf green of its own all the Summer, and 
turns a pleasant foxy-brown in Autumn, so that a yard 
or two of it is worth having on the water's edge. Its 
curious, spore-bearing, fertile fronds stand up stiffly from 
the Summer in which they are formed until the next, 
when thai spores are dusted out if you shake one of them. 
The piice de resistance of the pond, however, is a magni- 
ficent old Osmunda regalis with a history. It was bought 
many years ago from a tramp in Fleet Street who was 
carrying it on his back, and it was then only a single 



crown, but history does not relate whence he stole it. 
Possibly some marshes not further from Charing Cross 
than we are here, may have then contained the Royal 
Fern. It is very scarce in the Norfolk Broads now, 
but I do not believe its rarity is owing to tramps who 
would howk it up first and then hawk it around after- 
wards ; for I have come across old stools, either dead or 
with miserably small leaves on them, in places where I feel 
sure no tramp would venture. I expect a greater demand 
for chaff fodder made of the mown rushes of the marshes 
caused more of the marsh to be mown, and the scythe is 
responsible for the disappearance of King Osmund. If it 
can grow in Norfolk marshes, it might have once done so 
at Hackney or Hammersmith. Anyway, my friend Mr. 
John W. Ford bought it in London when a very young 
man, and planted it by the pondside in his father's garden 
at Enfield Old Park. It grew under their care into the 
magnificent clump I have known and admired for many 
years, and I can quite believe it was, as Mr. Ford used 
to say, the finest specimen between this and Killarney. 
When he was leaving Old Park a few years ago, and the 
preparations were going on for the sale in which many of 
his treasures that he could not take to his new home were 
to be sold and scattered, he most kindly wrote and offered 
me the great Osmunda if I would move it whole. 

Our bailiff and I went and looked at it, and we scratched 
our heads over it, and decided that, short of hiring a strong 
crane for the purpose, we could not undertake to uproot 
it and haul it over the stone wall at its back, and I regret- 
fully declined the kind offer. Then came a letter to 


My Garden in Summer 

say I might take it in any manner I courd accomplish, as 
that was better than its being chopped up and distributed 
in portions. So we went with picks and spades, cut the 
grand old fern into three pieces, and even then had no easy 
job to get it into the cart. I built one of my pegged-out 
promontories for it, filling in the space with the best loam, 
peat, and leaf soil we could lay hands on, and by removing 
a quantity of dead stem from the centre of the clump we 
were able, when fitting the three portions together, to stuff 
this central hollow with good feeding soil, and in each of 
the last three seasons the fronds have increased in size and 
number as though the move had done it good rather than 
harm, and we are very proud of its beauty, I can tell you. 
I owe a fine specimen of Bog Myrtle, Myrt'ca Gale, to the 
same kind friend. He had to wait between trains at 
Aberdovey Junction one fine day, and walking along the 
platform, which is a sort of pier built over a marsh, or 
was in the days when I knew it, he saw the flourishing 
Bog Myrtle bushes just below, and longed for one. 

"Have you got such a thing as a spade, porter?" 
" No, sir, nothing but the coal-shovel." " Oh, that will 
do ; come along and help me, will you ? " and off the 
two went, for my friend never sticks at trifles, and 
their joint efforts uprooted a square foot of marsh and 
Bog Myrtle. The resourceful porter produced a bit 
of sacking, and the shrub arrived safely at Old Park, 
and now that its lovely home there has been dismantled, 
it has followed the Osmunda here. We built it a similar 
mound in the pond, and though it had more dead wood 
than I cared to see in it a year after its removal, it is 



filling up the spaces I have cleared out in it with strong 
young growths, and is a very fine specimen, and delight- 
ful to pinch so as to bring out its sweet scent. A sniff of 
this scent always carries me back to happy bug-hunting 
grounds in the New Forest and the Norfolk Broads, where 
I have spent many hours tramping through waist-high 
thickets of Sweet Gale, and have unrolled many of its sewn- 
up shoots to extract the caterpillars of Taeniocampa gracilis, 
which, in the New Forest, always produce a beautiful red 
form of this usually dingy moth, when fed on Bog Myrtle. 
The pools in the rock garden are on such a small 
scale that they should hold only choice things, but they 
have been called upon to provide homes for many plants 
too coarse and spreading for them, that I must have 
somewhere. So one pool is dreadfully over-run with 
the King of Buttercups, Ranuncultis Lingua, brought from 
the Norfolk Broads. Still, a good deal can be done by 
hauUng out a barrow-load of shoots in Spring, and those 
left are all the stronger for the thinning, but never reach 
the height here they do in the fat, oozy mud of their 
Norfolk ditches, pools, and swamps. I have walked 
under their great yellow flowers there often enough, but 
of course I sank up to my ankles in the mud, and so 
lost a little in height. The varnished glittering flowers, 
as large as five-shilling pieces, are glorious to see against 
the blue sky, especially when the Swallowtail Butterflies, 
almost as brilliant, are circling among them. So I must 
keep the great Spearwort here for the sake of the visions it 
recalls of bird and butterfly of Broadland. Acorus Calamus 
has no business here, but would be hard to uproot now, 


Mj Garden in Summer 

and both the wild green form and its strikingly variegated 
one are handsome, if kept in check, and the leaves are 
interesting to pick for people who do not know the 
Scented Rush, and are astonished at its powerful hair-oil 
type of scent. They ought never to fail to recognise 
it again when once I have shown them its distinguishing 
mark of having one side of each leaf beautifully pleated 
or frilled — or perhaps goffered is the right way to describe 
its waved margin. Calla palustris runs about in the mud, 
and produces its white flowers like miniature Richardias, 
an inch or so above the water, and has occasionally 
brought them to the perfection of red berries. Lastrea 
Thelypteris, the Marsh Fern, brought from Norfolk, does 
well here, either on the bank at water level, or as a loose 
tangle of black roots, like horse-hair stuffing extracted from 
some chair, and just floating loosely in the pool without 
any anchorage. Orontium aquaticum is a very suitable 
plant for its position, though, and has formed a good- 
sized tuft ; it is amusing to sprinkle water on to it, for 
every drop rolls off the unwettable leaves like pellets of 
quicksilver, and, if dropped from a height, will actually 
bounce off the leaves. I wish some one would invent a 
new kind of waterproof clothes that would be as repellant 
to rain. The flowers are more curious than showy, for 
they are really the spadix of an aroid plant, and there is 
no showy spathe, but the lower portion of each slender 
spadix is white, the flowers crowded at its tip are 
bright yellow, and they look like some tropical kind of 
worm, with a white body and a yellow head, resting 
among the leaves. On the bank behind it is a group 



of a VCTy pretty Spiraea-like plant, Astilbe sinensis, that 
has spread out for about two feet from a single crown 
originally planted here. I can remember the days when 
it was considered the rosiest of the Spiraeas with spiked 
blossoms, but it looks rather pallid beside some of the 
newer 5. japonica forms, such as Peach Blossom and 
Queen Alexandra, which grow well on the opposite bank 
of these ponds. A good many Spiraeas that like wet 
feet have gathered round these pools, some planted by 
me and others self-sown. S. venusta is a great tres- 
passer, and spreads rapidly not only by seed but also 
by running shoots, and I have rather too much bf it, 
but it is so lovely when in flower I am weak about 
attacking it. I do not know of any plant the flowers 
of which are so nearly the colour of a strawberry ice, and 
later, the seeds turn such a good red as they swell out 
that I am always tempted to leave them on to enjoy 
their effect, and then the unwanted seedlings that ap- 
pear next season make me sorry I left them. S. camt- 
schatica, or gigantea as we used to call it, grows six feet 
high by the water, and is a fine thing when at its best, 
with its large heads of fluffy-white flowers, but stately 
at all times, from the first appearance of its large leaves 
in Spring till they turn copper colour in late Autumn, 
and even the bare stems, which will stand until the 
new ones are pushing, should be respected at tidying- 
up time, for, if left standing, they provide an effect 
of height in the wintry landscape. It hybridises freely 
with both venusta and palmata, which latter grows at its 
very feet here in my rock garden, but I like the tall 


Mjr Garden in Summer 

venusta children best, and have one, self-sown, just by 
the little stone bridge, that is prettier than either parent, 
as tall as camtschatica but of a very soft pink, and greatly 
enhanced in beauty by brilliantly rose-coloured anthers 
that give a shaded effect to the open flowers, Astilbe 
grandis, with its solid white spikes, and A. Davidiana, with 
tall rosy-purple ones, are grouped among these others, 
and follow them in their season of flowering in a very 
pleasant way. There is a dwarf form of S. palmata, 
known as variety purpurea, which is not common, but 
most people who see it admire and covet it, for it 
has charming little leaves heavily marked with purple 
and pretty pink flowers. Its dwarf habit fits it for moist 
corners of the rock garden, in company with the gem 
of the family, which changes its name so often I never 
know what to call it ; digitata and lobata are the two 
names most often used for it, but very likely both are 
incorrect. Anyway, it is a treasure, producing palmate 
leaves only three inches high, and its flower-stems are 
just one inch higher, and carry large heads of pink 
flowers almost as temptingly strawberry-ice-like as those 
of venusta. Opposite the group of tall Spiraeas there 
grows a large tussock of a very beautiful Sedge, with 
golden-striped leaves, another of my finds in the Nor- 
folk Broads. I noticed two or three shoots of a Sedge 
with a fine golden band on their leaves, so dropped on 
my knees and severed them from the main tuft with 
my pocket-knife, brought them home, and planted them 
where they have now formed this fine specimen. I 
believe it is Carex strictus, quite a common Sedge in its 



a rLCUi'\"il(ilia aiul Spiraea caiiUbchatica. (Sec [i. i7t.) 


ordinary green form. A curious thing about it is that, 
though the scrap I originally collected throve so well 
under my rough-and-ready treatment, I now find the 
greatest difficulty in propagating it, and pieces I have 
taken off for myself and others have invariably died 
with the exception of two. The late Mr. Amos Perry 
always rubbed his hands with joy when looking at my 
plant, and used to say, when he had twenty-five guineas 
to spare he would offer them to me for this plant. But I 
have never yet sold a plant, and I hope I never shall, 
so one day when I was in a good temper I offered him 
a chunk out of its side, and we got a fork and prized 
out a good dozen or more of crowns, but like others he 
had no luck with them, I am sorry to say, for I should 
greatly like to see this fine variety propagated and dis- 
tributed far and wide. When the first Spring growths 
appear it is not very brilliant, being little more than a 
golden green, but about the end of May, after flowering, 
it throws up long, arching leaves that have broad stripes 
of purest golden-yellow, and the colour deepens until 
August, when it fades gradually back to green. It is 
an enormous specimen, really too large for its position, 
so Mr. Perry and I hope to attack it afresh next Spring 
and to obtain better results this time. Halfway down 
the most sunken of the paths in the rock garden we 
came upon a valuable asset in the shape of a slight 
ooze of water, the result of our almost universal gravel 
giving out just there and a consequent outflow of some of 
its surface water where the underlying clay prevents its 
soaking away. So we hollowed out a small bed for plants 

177 M 

My Garden in Summer 

that love gravy with their dinner, such as the marsh 
Orchids, O, latifolia and Habenaria chlorantha, Pinguicula 
grandijhra, Primulas with thirsty habits, such as P. rosea 
and p. Poissonii, and Mentha Pulegium, the Penny Royal, 
which I brought from one of its few remaining wild 
homes, Slapton Lee, for it has been gathered so vora- 
ciously for making into Oil of Penny Royal, that it 
has become very scarce in many of its old haunts. 
It is rather a rampagious, greedy plant, and needs look- 
ing after when near choicer neighbours, but its whorls 
of lavender -blue flowers are worth having. A strange 
form of Gunnera scabra occupies the top of this bed. 
It appeared among seedlings raised at Newry, and might 
be a midget or a dwarf — but not a hunchback, for, 
though growing no higher than a foot, the leaves are well 
formed and not crumpled, but it never attempts to flower. 
I used to grow several pygmy Gunneras, mostly species 
from New Zealand, but they are too tender here for out- 
doors and not worth the trouble of lifting and keeping 
in frames, but, as contrasts to the huge species, they are 
interesting. G. monoica, G. arenaria, and G. dentata are 
amongst the smallest of carpeting plants ; while G. chilensis, 
more familiarly known as manicata, is the largest-leaved 
of hardy plants. Our large specimen by the pond 
has been extra fine this Summer, the leaf-stalks being 
over five feet in height. I believe the great secret for 
ensuring its reaching gigantic dimensions is to follow the 
advice originally given for the conversion of a grumbling 
husband to a happier frame of mind, and to " feed the 



Though Gunneras require a certain amount of moisture, 
they are, to my idea, not so much thirsty as hungry, and 
so we plant them farther up the banks than most water- 
loving plants would stand, and then we heap their plates 
at feeding-time with the richest food we can afford them. 
A couple of barrowfuls of well-rotted cow-yard manure is 
what they like, and, if the flower-spikes are removed early, 
the strength goes into the leaves, and they do us credit. 
G. chilensis produces the largest leaves and grows the tallest 
of them all, but its leaves are not so handsomely indented 
as those of scabra, so I am much pleased with a seedling 
form, another of the Newry children, which has an inter- 
mediate habit, tall leaf-stalks, and well-cut leaves, and now 
that it has spread into a mass, with some dozen or more 
crowns, it is certainly the most effective of all those I grow. 
Mr. Elwes has kindly given me the Gunnera he brought 
home from sub-alpine heights in Chili, which ought to 
be the hardiest of all. He tells me he saw a man on 
horseback ride under the leaves, so great things are to 
be expected of this variety or species ; but so far it has 
not developed very great dimensions or distinct charac- 
teristics in England. The first plant he gave me perished 
during Winter, but a promising young seedling has lately 
come from Colesborne (thanks to Mr. Elwes' generosity), 
and I mean to try and keep it a-going, and " do it proud." 




I FORGET the exact date of my acquisition of a taste for 
succulent plants ; but it was in early nursery days, and 
was started by a gift of two minute specimens in the 
smallest and reddest of pots imaginable, and so long ago 
that it is wise to be hazy as to dates. The love of succu- 
lents seems to be innate in children, and it does not 
depend altogether on the attractiveness of the wee pots, for 
I have many times noticed, when I have had classes of 
school-children for a visit to the garden, that the beds as 
well as pots of succulents attract them as much as any- 
thing they meet with that is not edible, and a side shoot 
of some Cotyledon, or little prickly ball of a babe off some 
Cereus, is the greatest treasure one can give them to carry 
away to grow. On the other hand I meet many grown-up 
people who declare they positively dislike succulents ; but 
these are generally people in the first flush of excitement 
of their gardening career, and bent on seeing my Romneya 
to see if it is as good as the one they planted last Spring, 
which now has two buds ; or they only care for pale blue 
Delphiniums surrounded by salmon-pink Antirrhinums, 
and ask if I have got a moraine yet, because a friend of 
theirs has got one and a plant of Edelweiss actually 



flowered in it, and so on. If only you can induce them 
to carry off a shoot of Kleinia articulata like a blue candle, 
or an infant Mam miliaria with attractive stars of golden 
spines topping each of its knobs, you may rest assured 
the germ has been injected that will produce Succulent 
Fever, and some day you will receive an appeal for 
any odd scraps you are throwing away, as they want to 
enlarge their collection. A love for these prickly, fleshy 
plants, although it may be a disease that, like Mumps and 
Measles, is more easily taken by the young, also resembles 
them in being more deadly in the adult ; for although 
it may be an acquired taste it seems to be ineradicable 
once it is developed. 

It is hard to say why succulents are so fascinating to 
the young and also to the initiated. Their neatness appeals 
to children, for as a rule they prefer a small rosette to a 
large one ; but grown-up people soon learn to appreciate 
a well-grown, old specimen. I think their charm must lie 
in the contrast they afford to the ordinary native forms of 
plants, the foreign air they wear, and the suggestion they 
give of warmer climates. In support of this I may in- 
stance the usefulness of a Prickly Pear and an Agave to 
the mediocre makers of illustrations — I can't call them 
artists nor their efforts pictures. They often depend on 
these two plants and a liberal allowance of sharp shadows 
to furnish an eastern or southern effect. But it amuses 
me to note how often they appear in illustrations of Bible 
scenes, for as both of these plants are of American origin 
neither could have been known in Palestine before the 
days of Christopher Columbus. 


My Garden in Summer 

To any who have travelled, even so far as the Riviera, 
a group of Agaves «nd Opuntias recalls pleasant memories 
of sunshine and heat, if the selective faculty of their memo- 
ries leads them to omit dust and drought. Drought is of 
course the raison d'etre of this thick-skinned race of plants ; 
they are representatives in living vegetable tissue of the 
wine and water skins of the East. A few of them, like 
the Cotyledons that people will still call Echeverias, and the 
semi-transparent forms of Haworthias, do really live up 
to the name they are classed under in English, and look suc- 
culent as one generally understands it — juicy and tender ; 
but short of cutting them open and seeing the store of 
pulpy succulence, one would imagine certain venerable 
Cacti, covered in tough woody horns and crowded spines 
or a wrinkled, leathery skin, to be as dry as any old 
tree trunk. 

I rather like the French name, plantes grasses, for 
them, but should not care for it translated into English, 
and I greatly love the pachydermatous plants themselves. 
The shadow of a branch of Opuntia on one of the rock 
garden stones appeals to my love of the South and the 
sunshine very strongly, and a grouping of pots of old 
specimen Aloes and Agaves with a minor cluster of Cac- 
tuses, with roundabout figures like large sea urchins, at 
their feet, standing on the stone steps by the pond, is to 
me the embodiment of summer heat, and plants that 
enjoy it no less than myself. It is not only the bold, 
picturesque, seen-from-a-distance effect, though, that de- 
lights me, but also the marvellous charm of symmetry 
to be found in most Cereus and Mammillaria species, 



the regularity of the arrangement of their ribs, ridges, 
or rows of protuberances, decorated with such marvels 
in the way of prickles, that vary from curved horns to 
long, straight needles, arranged singly or in beautifully 
regular, starlike groups ; or again as pins stuck into a 
round pin-cushion, as we find in the Echinopsis section 
of Cereus, but always with a mathematical precision that 
is both interesting and beautiful. The beauty of their 
regular arrangement is that of some art treasure, some old 
Venetian glass goblet, with raised beads of glass at regular 
distances, or an engine-turned design of interlacing lines ; 
and the interest lies in the fact that it is all reducible to 
rule and to be accounted for by the spacing of each spine 
or protuberance according to the rules of phyllotaxy, for 
they really represent metamorphosed stipules, leaves, or 
aborted branches from the axils of leaves that have never 
been developed, but whose places on the stem have been 
marked by these representatives of the usual concomi- 
tants of leaves. For, with the exception of the genus 
Pereskia, true leaves are not known in the Cactus family. 
The genus Opuntia provides the key to the nature of 
the prickles on Cactuses, for their young growths are 
furnished with fleshy, cyhndrical outgrowths that are 
obviously leaves, and in one species with a cylindrical 
stem, O. subulata, these peculiar leaves are several inches 
in length, and remain on the stem for a year or more, and 
then drop off, leaving only a few short prickles to mark 
their site. In the species with cylindrical stems there is 
no doubt as to which is stem and which leaf, but in the 
species with flattened, battledore-shaped joints it is a 


My Garden in Summer 

common fallacy to fancy each stem-joint is a leaf. If 
the young growths are examined they will be seen to 
bear fleshy outgrowths, similar to, but smaller than, the 
leaves of O. subulata, and that they fall before the joint 
has reached its full size, leaving in the case of most species 
a formidable spine or two to mark their places, which 
may represent stipules, or emergencies, a name invented 
by botanists for prickles such as those of Roses and 
Brambles, which are mere outgrowths of the skin only. 
But whatever they are, as I have said, they mark the 
places where leaves have been, or should have been, and 
whether in cylindrical or flattened stems, or even the 
nearly spherical ones of certain Echinocactus and Cereus 
species, whether raised on ribs or mammillae, or on the 
smooth skin itself, the spiral order of these pin-cushions 
can be fairly easily traced ascending the stem just as the 
leaves would on an ordinary plant. 

It is possible that in species which produce no early- 
falling, fleshy leaves, one prickle, in each cluster may 
represent a leaf reduced to nothing but a hard midrib. 
But if there are doubts as to the morphology of these 
prickles, there can be none about their being of definite 
use to the plant in protecting it from hungry and thirsty 
beasts, who otherwise would chew the tough skin to get 
at its juicy inside. Some of these spines are cruel 
weapons, and make fearful wounds. It is said that mules 
will kick some of the large Cacti during seasons of drought 
in America to get at the soft pulp, and that many die from 
the poisoning of their heels and hocks by the spines that 
enter them and break off. Many species have spines that 



are cruelly barbed, and so once in cannot be easily with- 
drawn ; and this is especially common with the Opuntias, 
and makes them very disagreeable for the gardener to 
handle, but very useful in hot countries for barriers, as 
a good hedge of some of the larger and more formidable 
kinds is impassable. On an occasion when a West 
Indian island was divided between the English and French, 
the frontier was planted with a triple row of Opuntia 
Tuna. I have suffered much from these little barbed 
prickles ; they arc so sharp they run into one's flesh at the 
slightest touch, and unless pulled out at once they often 
break, leaving the barbs in to set up inflammation, and 
presently work their way out along with the matter that 
forms round them. Therefore, when I wish to replant 
Opuntias or weed among them, I take out the fire-tongs 
and a pair of glove-stretchers to catch hold of them, or 
the weeds that are close to them. It is worse than useless 
to put on gloves, as the prickles go through them, and 
then in drawing off the glove you break off the ends by 
means of which you might have pulled them out. 

One day when weeding my Opuntia bank, my foot 
slipped on a wet rock and I sprawled into the prickles, 
and it was three weeks before I had got myself altogether 
cleared of them. So sometimes I wish I had never learnt 
to love them, especially when my hands are smarting with 
several hundred punctures. Some of the barbed prickles 
of the Opuntias are a special invention of their own, for 
unlike those of other Cactuses they are renewed and in- 
creased from year to year on old stem-joints among the 
longer spines that were formed while the shoot was 


My Garden in Summer 

young ; so it would appear that they are something of the 
nature of abortive stem growths growing out of the axils 
of the leaves, and a joint that was only armed with two 
or three long, straight spines from each leaf scar in its first 
season, when it has become old and woody in the course 
of four or five years may appear quite hairy from the 
vast numbers of these loosely-attached, barbed spines ; 
and were it not for the very attractive appearance of 
Opuntias, I expect no one knowing their wicked ways 
would ever have anything to do with them. 

Our succulents here are divided off for four separate 
usages, and we rank first and highest the clothing of a 
bank of the rock garden given over to them, for that was 
the origin of my collection. I have told in the volume of 
the Spring garden how two kinds of Opuntia I saw in 
Veitch's Exeter Nursery won my affection, and how their 
enjoyment of good health on the rock garden caused me 
to hunt for others equally amenable to outdoor cultiva- 
tion. Then came the displacement of all other plants 
from that particular bank, yard by yard and year by year, 
until now a stretch some thirty feet long belongs to the 
succulents, and they are so dear to me that, from Novem- 
ber till April, they are covered by a hideous lid of glass 
— old lights from a dismantled vinery — laid on a frame- 
work of wood, that the plants below may be kept com- 
paratively dry during the colder months. 

Come and look at them on a blazing July day, and I 
hope you will think the interest and beauty they provide 
in Summer compensate us for wounded fingers and the 
eyesore of the glass cover in Winter. Look at Cereus 



paucispinus with its many cylindrical growths, all produced 
here in this very spot from a single crown planted some 
fifteen years ago. Admire its crimson, unopened buds, 
and the dazzling vermilion of its opened flowers, and 
notice how marvellously the emerald green star that is 
the stigma shines out in the centre by its contrast with 
the red. Surely that is worth a little trouble to grow 
on the rock garden, for I have counted fifteen flowers 
open at once in good seasons. Looking at its fierce 
spines you can hardly believe that slugs will dare to 
journey up the stems and eat the buds, but I have caught 
them in the act, and I can answer for it that those I 
caught never ate any more. When the Opuntias are 
in full bloom their semi-transparent flowers look as if 
made of thin Chinese silk. They are mostly of various 
shades of yellow, from a very pale, greenish-primrose 
tint to rich orange, but some are of most beautifully 
soft shades of rosy buff, and crushed strawberry, that 
are very pleasing, and unlike those of any other flower I 
know, coming near to some of the hybrid Verbascums 
of coppery shades, but with more crimson in them than 
the Mulleins can boast. They all possess a curious power 
of movement, that is most noticeable on a very hot 
day, and when the flowers are widely expanded. The 
stamens are irritable, and a light touch on the anthers 
will cause them all to close inwards in a curious, spiral 
wave that takes about half a minute to complete, and then 
after a few minutes of rest they will reverse the movement 
and slowly open out again. I do not know of what use 
it is to the plant, unless it serves to rub more pollen on to 


My Garden in Summer 

a visiting insect than it would otherwise collect of itself, 
and I have not noticed any other Cactus behaving in the 
same way. A succession of wet Summers and cold 
Winters greatly reduced a fine grouping of the division 
of Cereus most frequently called Echinopsis. They form 
very symmetrical, spherical plants, most of which are 
strongly ribbed, and have rows of tubercles bearing short 
prickles set at regular distances on each rib, like rows of 
buttons. A good colony of them, with the many babes 
they bud off from the lower part of their stems, looks like 
a family group of green sea-urchins, and their name, 
Echinopsis, is of course derived from the scientific name 
of those animals — echinos in Greek doing duty for both 
the hedgehog and the sea-urchin. Their flowers are very 
large, and mostly white or pale rose-colour, and appear in 
July and August from the upper portions of the ribs. 
They begin life as grey, furry knobs not unlike the Sallow 
blossotfiS that constitute Palm Sunday " Palm " — but they 
soon lengthen out to four inches or more of narrow tube, 
and then at last the upper portion swells out into a fat, 
grey bud, and finally opens late one afternoon into a large 
star-shaped bloom with a hollow throat. The first night 
the anthers shed their pollen and the flower remains in 
full beauty next day, but is not quite so widely opened as 
during the evening hours. The second night the stigma 
opens, and would in nature be dusted with pollen from a 
first-night blossom, collected and carried by some large 
moth, and cross pollination would be thereby effected. 
About noon on the following day the flower begins to 
flag, gradually closes, and becomes flabby and dies off, 


Cereiis paucispinus. (See pi 1S7.) 


but an old plant will provide four or more flowers in a 
season. All the Echinopsis forms are slightly tender here, 
and better suited for growing in pots, to stand out in 
Summer on walls and steps. Still, I have a good colony 
of them, but in much less variety than formerly, only the 
hardiest being left of the old group of which I was so 
proud before certain bad seasons killed some of the 
plants, for I have not yet recovered heart to try newer 

Many Opuntias are very hardy, and the most reliable 
of the showy-flowered kinds are the varieties of O. caman- 
chica, of which something like a dozen are known, most 
of which I have tried, and nearly all are flourishing 
well. The only really hardy one with large growths is 
O. cantabrigensis, of which there is such a fine specimen in 
the open in the Cambridge Botanic Garden, from which 
it was described and named by Mr. Lynch, who kindly 
gave me a piece of it that is now growing into a large 
specimen here. The handsomest of all is O. glauca or 
robusta, with huge, round stem-branches a foot or more in 
diameter and covered with a bluish powder. I have twice 
succeeded in getting it to grow into a good specimen 
here, but alas ! each of them fell to bits through the lower 
joints rotting off in bad Winters, and I am starting again 
from one of the sound joints. Cotyledon (Eckeveria) Pur- 
pusii is very hardy, and makes a good contrast among the 
bristly Opuntias, with its smooth grey-green rosettes of 
leaves and showy red and yellow flowers, and C. farinosa 
is even more attractive on account of its mealy, blue-grey 
leaves. Crassula sarcocaulis is soniewhat of a newcomer 


My Garden in Summer 

here, a memento of a visit to Glasnevin and its generous 
Director, but in its three seasons with me has grown into 
a most picturesque little tree with a smooth, fleshy stem 
to justify its specific name, and this August it was a mass 
of crimson and white blossoms. Agave Parryi, which sends 
out suckers a foot away from the parent plant, arranges 
itself as a picturesque group, the youngest and smallest 
members farthest away from the patriarchal centre-piece. 
The position on this hot bank, and the slight help of over- 
head cover for Winter, agree with its comfort, and I have 
been able to place several of its babes out in the world with 
friends I thought worthy of such treasures, my estimate 
of their virtues being based on the amount of attention I 
reckoned they would pay to the precious babe's future 
happiness. Otherwise the colony would have become 
overcrowded. One old specimen has had to battle with 
frosts and rains for fifteen years, and has had his ups and 
downs ; he also assumed patriarchal dignity at one time 
and placed young cadets in advantageous positions, even 
on the other side of a good, lumpy rock that forms his 
south wall. This was rather rough on those youths, 
amounting to choosing the career of an Arctic explorer 
for them, and they all perished in their second year when 
the thermometer dropped to zero. After that the chieftain 
had a bad time himself ; a soppy, wet Autumn kept him 
too sappy, even in his well-drained rocky home, and 
several inner leaves, that were swelling up to outgrow all 
others before produced, rotted in Winter, and left nasty 
masses of basal fibre for wet to lodge in that for several 
seasons injured the central growths. But he has battled 



through, and is looking dignified again, and has once more 
acquired a fine stout heart for himself, but not sufficiently 
brave an one to start another nursery. My first specimen 
is not a Goliath by any means, for either A. Parryi is a 
very slow grower in cool climates or else is a pygmy form. 
I should have believed the latter to be the case if I had 
not seen flowering specimens at Tresco almost as large as 
an A. americana when it has reached its final effort of 
flowrring. These looked like my plants in the deep 
green of the thick leaves and the shape of the terminal 
spine, but goodness knows what will become of their 
neighbours if my colonies, whose largest members now 
measure about two and a half feet in diameter, their 
longest leaves being about a foot long, should suddenly 
grow up and produce leaves five feet in length. 

A. applanata, said to be equally hardy, has never sur- 
vived a bad Winter here, even under the cover of the lights ; 
but A. utahensis preserves the same stolid calm, and only 
half-alive appearance. Winter and Summer alike. It pro- 
duces its offsets freely, but thickly clustered under its 
oldest and dying leaves, and without a morsel of runner or 
stem to them, so that they are hard to get off uninjured, 
and still harder to root when removed. I have tried many 
Beschornerias and Furcraeas on this bank, but a bad 
Winter interferes with their central crowns, and even if 
they shoot out again, they lose so much strength and 
beauty that they look like invalids for several seasons, 
and are generally incurables. Dasylirions, however, fare 
better, and even if the central tufts of unexpanded leaves 
get a bit browned now and then, they generally recover. 


My Garden in Summer 

D. hngifolium, with wide as well as long, bright green 
leaves, is a good one, but D. Hookeri has bluer and 
handsomer leaves, with an edging of shark's teeth from 
base to tip ; and both have grown into large specimens, 
their long, grassy leaves providing a good contrast with 
the rounded outlines of the Cactuses. 

I have a mental millstone hanging about my neck, 
which consists of a recollection of having said a good 
deal about this Cactus bank in the Spring volume of 
this garden record, and as both the manuscript and 
the proofs are in the printer's hands, and I cannot 
for the life of me remember just how much I did say 
of the Bromeliads and Cape Bulbs that share this parched 
spot with the prickly Cacti, I write in fear of repetition ; 
but I should be sorry if I failed to mention some 
worthy and faithful plant. At least three species of 
Rhodostachys have met here after their exile from 
their homes in Chili. R. pitcairniaefolia does the best, 
and makes wide clumps of pineapple-like greenery, but 
has never yet flowered ; not that I much want to see 
the actual flowers, which are small and a dull greyish 
blue ; but as the inner leaves of a flowering rosette turn 
a vivid crimson in honour of the occasion, I do want 
to see that sunset effect. R. andina is much greyer, in 
fact, nearly white on the backs of the leaves, but not quite 
sure as yet whether it likes this open-air treatment. The 
other, I believe, is R. littoralis, and this poor plant would 
like to go to the Riviera or the greenhouse for the Winter, 
for its more exposed leaves turn a sad drab hue after a 
week of sharp frosts. 



So far Bilbergia nutans, which comes from Brazil and so 
could hardly be expected to look happy here, has come 
through more smilingly than any Bromeliad. All these 
named figure in the Kew Hand-list under the title of Tender 
Monocotyledons, so are certainly what one might call risky 
plantings. I keep duplicates of all of them in pots, and 
these are growing into handsome specimens, and are use- 
ful for standing out in the Summer on the pavements, 
and on the wall at the back of the terrace ; this is our 
second, and I think largest, use for succulent plants ; the 
third use is bedding out those that are suitable, to fill some 
of the terrace beds when the Tulips are garnered ; and the 
fourth comprises those that, like Phyllocacti and Cereus 
grandiflorus, always live under glass. I have already men- 
tioned the steps by the pond, and that they are the Summer 
rendezvous of many specimen succulents, a sort of Brighton 
or Eastbourne for them during their summer outing. Two 
fairly large spaces, paved with black and white pavement 
from a hall, were planned on purpose for groupings of 
these pot plants, and a low balustrade at the back of 
each accommodates many of the smaller specimens, and 
some large ones on the tops of the pillars. Four very 
handsome old stone vases by the edge of the walk hold 
four large pots, and Aloe arborescens, the commonest sort 
of Aloe grown, and Sedum dendroideum, equally common 
but very seldom encountered with a name attached to it, 
return yearly to their old lodgings, and a fine old speci- 
men of Crassula poriulacea and another of C. arborescens that 
is alnlost as large occupy the two central vases. Both 
Crassulas have smooth, brown, fleshy stems, like those 

193 N 

My Garden in Summer 

of some old tree in miniature, that make very picturesque 
supports for their fat round leaves. I am sorry to see 
they do not appear in the accompanying illustration of 
these steps and vases, specimens of the Aloe and Sedum 
only being in possession of all four vases the season it 
was taken. 

Agaves of many kinds may be seen here, and tender 
Yuccas, besides Opuntias and Cereus species. It is a great 
joy to me to arrange this grouping year by year, and I 
have not yet made up my mind whether I like them best 
arranged somewhat according to their families or in a 
thorough mixture of Cacti and leafy subjects, so I can 
keep on trying first one and then the other to find out. 
The only drawback to growing these succulents into large 
specimen plants in pots is their rapid increase in size, which 
leads to the bursting of pots at too frequent intervals, and 
the difficulty of packing them all under cover at the end 
of Autumn. On the terrace wall we can only stand 
things that will not blow over too easily, so the Rhodo- 
stachys forms are useful and solid here ; any squat, round 
Cactus will do, and of course pans of low-growing things 
are always safe. I am quite certain I like these gathered 
in their clans on this wall. Even the Haworthias are more 
effective kept apart from their near relatives the Gasterias. 
The Haworthias, with their starry rosettes, look as if 
sprinkled over with pearls or a carefully picked out hand- 
ful of white hundreds and thousands, which could only 
have been the work of the little girl who produced a farthing 
in the sweet-shop, saying, " A farthing's worth of hundreds 
and thousands, and please pick out all pink ones." 



But I do not go so far as to divide the Gasterias into the 
tongue-shaped forms such as G. verrucosa and those which, 
like G. disticha, have their leaves arranged one above another 
like those of an open book. The wall is punctuated, so to 
speak, by stone vases which space out divisions for some 
families, but we have to be careful to make a break in a 
division now and then — for instance, a small grouping of 
pots and pans of Haworthias at the foot of the right- 
hand vase in one space, with two or more large specimen 
Aloes near the left-hand vase ; or a clustering of Echi- 
nopsis forms on either side of a vase, and a space of empty 
wall to right and left of them, while a neighbouring brace 
of spaces may be filled entirely, their vases and all, with 
various Mesembryanthemums. In this way the top of the 
wall becomes a very attractive feature of the summer garden, 
that is of great interest to any one who cares for suc- 
culent plants. The two last spaces between the vases at 
the west end of the wall are occupied all the year round 
by a collection of Sempervivuras in pots and pans, that 
treated thus both grow well and are interesting. The 
great difficulty in arranging them attractively is to avoid 
the appearance of a nursery garden produced by so many 
seed-pans. So I have hunted diligently wherever I went 
for any sort of pots or pans of different shapes and 
sizes, and now there are scarcely three alike among the 
lot. Pigeons' drinking-bowls, pans with ornamental 
mouldings, and a few ordinary flower-pots of varying 
sizes, did much to help, and some large pots whose 
upper portions were broken, when sawn down at vary- 
ing heights, completed the good work. When I have had 


My Garden in Summer 

a game of Chess with them and castled the King, and a 
fellow too much like his neighbour has made a Knight's 
move, the general effect is good, much better than is 
shown in the illustration facing p. 198, the photograph 
for which was taken when rather too many of the pieces 
were standing on neighbouring squares, and the effect is 
too uniform and too much like the commencement of 
the game viewed from the front. 

We give over four of the terrace beds at bedding-out 
time to succulents, for they are as suitable as any plants 
could be for this purpose, because, as the Darwin Tulips 
are their predecessors, we have to wait until nearly mid- 
June to bed out, that is until the Tulips are sufficiently 
ripened to be lifted, and nothing produces a much better 
immediate effect than good specimens of succulents ; the 
bed shown in the accompanying illustration will give an 
idea of the effect obtained. Many of the large speci- 
mens are sunk in their pots, as they can then be lifted 
more easily at the approach of frost. I like to group all 
of one kind together, better than matching them in twos 
and fours to make more or less of a pattern, as the result 
is less formal, and they gain in effect by being supported 
by their own kith and kin. I never had a name for the 
very tall-stemmed Sempervivum shown in the front of 
this bed, but with the unbranched stems and single 
crowns on the top, they remind me so much of the 
Co-operative Cauliflower of Edward Lear's inimitable 
story of The Four Children that I generally call my plants 
by that name, and think I must some day plant a couple 
of tall plants of Opuntia cylindrica on either side of one, 



to represent the superincumbent confidential Cucumbers 
that accompanied that very original plant. The large 
rosettes seen by their side, with the hen-and-chicken-like 
ring of offsets round each, I believe to be S. holochrysum, a 
very handsome, dark green thing that contrasts well with 
the mauves, pinks, and greys of the various Cotyledons 
next to them. The best of all for soft colouring is C. 
metallica crispa, a rather rare form, as it is difficult to in- 
crease ; for while many kinds are easily propagated by 
breaking off and planting a leaf, this beauty resents such 
liberties and melts into tears, or, in other words, rots off 
at the slightest insult. The deepest in colour is C. gibbi- 
flora, really a rich crimson at the edges of the leaves, with 
wonderful shadings of blue, grey, and purple. With a 
little care in blending their shades a very charming effect 
can be obtained, even without the help of their golden 
or orange and red flowers. When the Co-operative 
Cauliflower fellow flowers, he does it so thoroughly that 
the whole crown becomes a bouquet of branching stems 
and small, bright-yellow flowers, and then his very last 
leaf drops off and the flowers turn to seed heads, and that 
is the end of him ; but he produces a goodly number of 
offsets with thin stems from his fat central one before he 
thinks of flowering, so one should always keep a few 
youngsters as understudies. 

Aloe abyssinica and A. Hanburyana are two fine bold 
species with long leaves curved upwards at the ends like 
the horns of Scotch cattle, but green and flat and there- 
fore not a bit like them except in their curve. A. ferox 
has short, almost heart-shaped, leaves with great prickles 


My Garden in Summer 

growing out from their fat round backs and round their 
edges, and so contrasts well with the other two, but makes 
a good match for A. mitraeformis, A. saponaHa hzs a form 
with leaves beautifully tesselated in two shades of green, but 
is surpassed in this line by the dwarf A. variegata, whose 
rich green and pure white bands form as remarkable a 
pattern as one can find in any plant, and have endowed it 
with the name of the Partridge Breast Aloe. We like to 
keep one of the smaller beds for extra choice kinds such 
as this Aloe and the variegated Sempervivum arboreum, and 
a curious plant that looks like a Rhipsalis, but is soon 
found out to be a Euphorbia by the simple experi- 
ment of sticking a pin in one of its joints, which in- 
stantly exudes the milky juice that betrays its identity. 
Other Euphorbias in bewilderingly different forms stand 
on the wall ; there you will find E. antiquorum with horny 
dark brown edges armed with thorns round its curious 
five-sided joints, and Et cereiformis pretending its best to be 
a Cereus, while E. pendula's cylindrical joints are so many 
inches in length that they need support. Even the two 
ends of the stone seat in the centre of the terrace are 
made to bear a group of choice and small succulents, the 
large lead vases that stand in the centre of each preventing 
any large specimen sharing their perch. So here are small 
Mesembryanthemums such as M. stellatum and M. barbatum, 
and Mamraillarias such as M. elongata, like a pot full of 
thimbles of all sizes. 

These cactacean ' thimbles are beautifully decorated 
with brilliantly white, or yellow and white, stars, formed of 
radiating tufts of prickles, and so wonderfully symmetrical 



both in their fashioning and in their arrangement round 
the thimble as to be a joy for ever to look at closely. 
Their beauty is even greater when a ring of bright red 
berries ornaments the business end of the thimble, having 
replaced the rather dingy yellow and brown flowers. 
Crassula perfossa generally has an honoured place here, 
quite at the edge, so that its growths may hang free of the 
stone moulding. Its leaves are opposite, and the two in 
each pair are so thoroughly fused together as to look like 
one, and as though the woody stem pierced through its 
centre, much like those sticks of green and red crystallised 
dainties that are packed along the sides of boxes of mixed 
preserved fruits ; but as the Crassula's leaves are not so 
gay they remind me quite as much of sticks of cat's meat, 
and I fear the plant is generally spoken of as the Cat's 
Meat Crassula here. A mixed group on the wall contains 
Crassula (once Rochea) falcata as background ; its great blue- 
green scimitars of leaves cross each other in a curious 
manner, and are so solid and blue they alone make it 
worth growing, but when late in the Summer it bears 
great heads of scarlet flowers, it is a still finer sight. 

Some of the Kleinias contrast well with it, especially 
those that are fairly closely related to K. articulata, 
the well-known Candle-plant of cottage windows, and 
of which my first specimen was a gift from a dear old 
body who lived in the Alms-houses here, and had a taste 
for succulent plants. Its bluish-white candles are very 
effective when the leaves have fallen from them. K, 
Anteuphorbium, though its stems are green instead of blue, is 
an even more remarkable plant, for it will grow four feet 


My Garden in Summer 

high, and its long candles are striped with dark and light 
green, and look like the caterpillars of some giant Elephant 
Hawk Moth. It is an interesting plant, too, for several 
reasons ; thus it is one of the oldest Cape plants in cultiva- 
tion, and was brought tb Europe in 1570 — we might have 
called it deported, had it happened nowadays — and 
Gerard grew it in his garden, and writes of it, "The 
whole plant is full of cold and clammie moisture, which 
represseth the scorching force of Euphorbium, and it 
wholly seemes at the first view to be a branch of greene 
corall." Hence its name, being used as an antidote to 
the poison of the dried juice of the officinal Euphorbia, 
then much used in medicine, as long lists of its virtues 
attest. In a similar way Aconitum Anthora got its name as 
the remedy against the poison of Ranunculus Tkora. There 
are other curious facts connected with this Groundsel (all 
Kleinias are but a group of Senecio according to modern 
authors), and one is that its wild habitat is now un- 
known, and another that it has only been known to flower 
twice in Europe — in Gloucestershire in 1732, when Dille- 
nius saw and figured it, and again at La Mortola in 1874, 
when it was drawn for the Botanical Magazine. A glance at 
either portrait shows us we do not lose much, the flowers 
being very markedly of the Groundsel build and quite ray- 
less, and I prefer its coral appearance when naked of both 
flower and leaves. The charm of Kleinia tomentosa, on the 
contrary, is confined to its leaves, for they are covered 
with a close, grey felt, that gives them the appearance of 
being cut out of a piece of an old grey su^de glove. 
Calibanus caespitosus is a weird thing and a fitting com- 



panion for these other freaks : it has a clumsy rounded 
stem like a piece of tree trunk, and here and there tufts 
of grassy leaves, much like those of a Dasylirion, spring 
out and look rather twisted and uncanny, and therefore 
it is named in honour of the monster Caliban instead of 
some eminent botanist. A few of the strangest look- 
ing succulents are too delicate to be allowed out even 
in Summer, and we shall find them in the span-roof 
vinery. Here live the fluffy Mammillarias with silky and 
feathery fibres among their stars which make them look 
like decayed grapes covered with mildew in the distance, 
but are beautiful objects when viewed through a lens, and 
with them are Mesembryanthemums, which like M. tigrinum 
are armed with two rows of teeth or claws suggesting 
beasts of prey, or have fat, rounded leaves, and seldom 
more than two or four of them at a time, which aided by 
their purple and grey mottlings closely resemble pebbles, 
and in their native habitats must be well protected by their 
mimetic colouring. M. Bolusii is one of the most extra- 
ordinary of these, with pairs of opposite leaves two inches 
wide, marvellously like rounded stones. As succulents 
have so many attractions for me, my collection has been 
constantly added to until it has become quite one of the 
features of the garden, but many people think it an awful 
pity we give up so much space in vinery and cool houses 
to this prickly, weird class of plants, that might be used 
to produce Tomatoes and other food for the inner man. 



How July Begins 

I GENERALLY arrange to be absent from my garden in 
mid and late June, for I am one of those badly finished 
off persons whose mucous membrane never got the last 
coat of paint, or the right tempering or hardening, or 
whatever was needful to enable it to resist the irritation 
of grass pollen that is called Hay-fever. I believe I have 
tried every remedy that has been put on the market, and 
though some alleviated my particular forms of sneezing 
and eye-swellings, none made me feel well enough to be 
happy. I objected all along to have my nose cauterised, 
believing it dulls one's power of scent, which means so 
much to me that I would far rather snuffle and sneeze for 
one month and be able to smell clearly and keenly the 
other eleven than be robbed of any olfactory powers j 
and before the days of anti-toxins and injections I dis- 
covered so pleasant a cure that Hay-fever has become 
quite a valuable asset in my life scheme, for I must, 
" absoballylutely must" as Grossmith used to say, carry my 
poor nose away from the flowering grass meadows to 
Alpine heights where a breeze blows off the snow. Once 
I reach an altitude of 3000 feet I am cured, and the sight 
of Poa alpina in its viviparous state by the side of a 
road assures me it is safe to draw in the breeze with 


How July Begins 

expanded nostrils. A sea voyage might take me into a 
pollenless region ; but I hate the sea as much as I do 
Hay-fever, and, on the other hand, am glad of so good an 
excuse to get away to Nature's own rock garden at the 
very time it is making its bravest show, and looking as if 
it were doing so on purpose to please me and invite me to 
help myself to whatever I like. After three weeks of 
wandering on the everlasting hills just below the snows 
and in vast treeless spaces, where Roche Melon, the Cimon 
della Parla, or some other great peak, whether leagues 
distant or apparently hanging over one's head, is a con- 
stant companion of one's walks, till it becomes as familiar 
a portion of the daily landscape as the Cedar on the lawn, 
I feel my garden is insufferably crowded for the first few 
days after my return. I long to push the trees farther 
apart and to see away beyond the one-mile limit, that is 
all this fiat country affords me, unless I climb to the 
chimney stacks. But how good it is to smell the Roses 
that are always in such masses on or about the 30th June, 
and to find the Strawberries ripe and plentiful after the 
fruit famine of the high Alps. Of course my own rock 
garden looks ridiculous until some lovely plant from 
New Zealand or the Rockies catches my eye, and the 
plant-love in me causes me to forget the spell of the five- 
mile stretch of a carpet of Viola calcarata or the twelve- 
acre snowfield whose whiteness is due to Ranunculus pyre- 
naeus and to drop on my knees to peer into the open face 
of some treasure whose beauty and rarity make a single 
plant almost as delightful to behold as half a mountain 
side of some more familiar flower. 


My Garden in Summer 

It is a time of poignant pleasure and fresh revelations, 
though, when after unpacking one's basket and vasculum, 
and the contents have been watered and can be left to 
recover the shaking and squeezing of their journey before 
they are planted, I wander round to see what the garden 
has to show me, either in the way of a new-comer open 
for the first time or an old friend surpassing all its pre- 
vious efforts. This season I find Lonicera tragophylla in 
this last class, for it has taken the two past seasons to fill 
its pergola post, and nqw has turned its attention to flower- 
ing with a whole heart, and so here we have a full 
orchestra of golden trumpets that ought to produce a 
stupendous fanfare ; but those rich yellow flowers only 
produce a show, and they offer little or nothing for 
the nose even — rather disgraceful for a Honeysuckle 
but forgivable in one so daflodilious in hue. Trollius 
sinensis was an out-of-season, solitary-flowered, pot speci- 
men when I first saw its orange glory in a nursery frame, 
and fell in love with its crown of long-pointed petals rising 
above the widely-opened, Caltha-like sepals. I vowed 
then and there I must grow it, and now I find it a tall 
specimen with branching stems and half a dozen of the 
rich orange-coloured flowers, a finer plant even than I 
imagined. Lilium Washingtonianum has never flowered 
here before and may never flower again, so I gaze criti- 
cally at its waxy flowers with their many lilac shades from 
lavender to rosy purple. I admire it enough to want to 
see its tall spike again, but not sufficiently to purchase 
bulbs every other season to keep it in its place. Meconopsis 
Wallichii is the sensation of the moment, and three tall, 


How July Begins 

golden-furred stems bear newly-opened turquoise cups 
full of gold dust, for I have got hold of a good form at 
last of real blue colouring, quite different from certain 
others I nursed along to the flowering age only to find 
them pinkish or steely grey. But they look so thirsty 
and flabby after the three weeks' drought that has lasted 
throughout my absence, that tired as I am after my 
twenty-four hours of travelling from the plateau of Mont 
Cenis, I must go and fetch a can or two of water from 
the river. This errand causes me to pass Romneya tricho- 
calyx, and I almost forget the thirsty Poppies, for this 
relation of theirs is revelling in the heat ; it has opened 
the first of its great, white flowers, and has many fat, 
yellowish-green, prickly buds in various stages ready to 
keep the pot a-boiling. The prickly outside of the calyx, 
as its name notifies, is the main botanical distinction 
between this and the better-known species R. CouUeri, and 
if that were the only difference I think even my botanical 
instincts would be left cold and indifferent towards it ; 
but as I find it more reliable here in the way of producing 
early and plentiful flowers I make a fuss of it. Here the 
year's shoots from the base produce a terminal flower-bud 
when they have reached about four feet in height, and 
almost every lateral shoot follows their good example, and 
a succession of flowers is kept up until frosts spoil the later 
buds. Both species are generally cut to the ground in 
our Winters, so this good habit of early flowering on young 
growths makes R. trichocalyx the more valuable form. There 
is a fine specimen of it at Glasnevin growing in the Orders 
beds that, aided by the softer Irish climate, sends up 


My Garden in Summer 

wands six feet and more in height, and is a fine sight 
when in flower. My plant was given me by Mr. Hiatt 
Baker, in whose delightful garden at Almondsbury it 
flowered for the first time in England, and is a root- 
cutting from the original plant ; so I am very proud of it 
and I hope grateful to its kind donor. R. Coulieri is a 
variable species, and one can easily recognise two forms : 
a broad-leaved one that branches out very freely, forming 
a low, rounded bush, and is a stingy old curmudgeon in 
its views about providing flowers ; the other sends up 
straight wands that bear rather narrow leaves, but also a 
reasonable number of flower-buds, and this form is much 
more given to sending out suckers at a distance from the 
parent plant than the other, so should gradually replace 
the miserly one in gardens. 

I wish the Cabbage Moth [Mamestra brassicae) could be 
induced to realise that death and disaster will pursue its 
brood of caterpillars when asylumed on Romneyas, and 
therefore Cabbages are safer orphanages for motherless 
larvae. No one grumbles at a few holes in the outer 
leaves of Cabbages, and even if these little green pests would 
eat them up entirely it would save gardeners and cooks 
from cutting them off ; but surely it is bad policy to bore 
into the white heart, for though it may be fat living it 
must often end in disaster under wrathful gardeners' feet, 
or in boiling and posthumous execration by the would-be 
consumer of unadulterated Cabbage. Still more rash is it 
to invade the Romneya of a keen gardener, to fret and 
filigree its leaves at first when small, and then to bore 
into fat buds so that they can only open as mere rags, like 


^B^ ^mVP'SH 


^^^ jy. '-^Sf^ 

HHr».#^#:' ^^J 


liliip -itj^m 

4 k *P 

9^^K^ ^^^ 

i ''"' "w^m''"' ' '''" '#*' 

li ' : i-io 

^* ''^ -■ 

^■fl '■ 

%. >• ' 



^^K ' '''• ''M ^ 


I^H^ '^'M^^p^ 


^W^ f 

jT r'\'^^^Kj 

^^"^ jjE 

6j, , 



1 • 





X ' mj^K^^^^g^^^g^ 



^^^il^^^^^B 19 

^1/ "' 


^.'il^^L aj 


■ S-v*-^ 

■Wm^^^ ■'■''" •'' ' 


«^, a 


P^'':-' ' ■ 

^' ^f^^w^^^^B *^' 



r '"-■'■M. 


llT " 


■■■..'J>'> : ._ ■ ■ ,- 



l\omnc\"."L Irii bocalyx. (Sec p. :o;.') 

How July Begins 

the tattered old flags preserved in cathedrals. If the keen 
gardener is enough of an entomologist to recognise his 
enemy's style of work, he will sally forth after dark with 
an acetylene bicycle lamp and catch Master Cabbage 
Moth. It is a revelation to go round the garden on mild 
nights with such a powerful light, for the army of robbers 
and murderers in the slug and insect line one meets with 
makes one wonder that any plants are left whole. Cater- 
pillars that are hidden in the ground or under leaves by 
day lie out at full length after a meal on the upper surfaces 
of leaves, feehng there is nothing to fear ; or may be seen 
chewing away at the edge of leaf and bud, and are easily 
detected, as their colouring is shown up by acetylene light 
in a wonderful way that renders them conspicuous in 
spite of the patterns that are useful for hiding them in 

The greatest change that I always notice in the rock 
garden on my return from the hills is the final two feet 
of growth and bursting into flower of Campanula lactiflora, 
which has become one of our weeds there, and if it were 
not ruthlessly evicted wherever it is not required would 
cover the whole place, including the moraines. It was 
first planted in the triangular flat portion that is now the 
Dwarf Almond copse, and is Mr. Farrer's delight and envy. 
I planted three seedlings, all I had, and if any clairvoyant 
had been crystal-gazing at the moment and told me I 
should in a few years be digging them up in hundreds to 
give away and throw away, I should have dug up those 
three infants, fearing the ruin of my garden. But as 
I destroy those which, like the abomination of desolation 


My Garden in Summer 

spoken of by the prophet Daniel, stand where they should 
not, only leaving a row down each side of the path and a 
few others where they are doing no harm, the rock garden 
looks exceedingly well during the fortnight of their reign. 
Nearly all of them at this upper end of the rock garden 
are either the pure white form, which I think the loveliest 
of all, or of the skim-milk, bluish-grey tint that provided 
their specific name, and really blue forms very seldom 
appear among them. In the lower end, by the Cotmeaster 
multiflora, is another colony, but all of fine blue shades, 
having sprung from a different ancestor, a fine fellow still 
alive and hearty, though sent me some dozen or so years 
, ago by Miss Anderson from Barskimming, and is still 
one of the finest blue forms I have seen. I hope she has 
many more as good in her lovely Scotch garden, and that 
she did not send me the best, though I cannot imagine a 
better form. In some seasons the five to six feet high flower- 
stems they produce have caused trouble where they grow 
beside the path by arching over, after a thunderstorm, until 
they meet in the centre, and the first who ventures to walk 
through them gets a shower-bath. So now I prepare for 
such emergencies by nipping off the heads of the stems 
nearest the path when they are only two or three feet 
high, which causes them to branch freely, and yet they 
flower at the same time as their untouched brethren 
behind, but on shorter stems that do not bend out so far, 
and have a very pleasing effect in the forefront. I also 
nip a few here and there just before I leave for Alpine 
rambles, and these come into flower a week or more later 
than the main show, and carry the season on a little. It 


How July Begins 

is marvellous how soon C. lactiflora seems to change from 
lovely flower-heads eighteen inches high by ten through, 
into clusters of pepper-pots shaking out thousands of 
minute flattened buff seeds with every jolt and jar. So as 
soon as the majority of the flowers of a head look a little 
jaded it is wise to cut off the whole head, or you must 
prepare for a year or two's extra weeding of seedlings. 
If cut off close under the lowest flowers, the stems will 
branch out and flower again later in the season ; but it is 
a poor show that is provided by these small heads of 
lateral shoots compared with the waving masses of early 
July. In some gardens this Campanula has the reputation 
of never bearing seed, and I must own I should have put 
that tale down to over-tidy gardening, both in cutting off 
fading heads and hoeing the ground, but that I have two 
distinct forms here that have never so far produced any 
self-sown seedlings. One of these is a hairy, late flower- 
ing plant, with extra widely-gaping cups ; in fact, they 
would be better described as small slop-basins, or surplus 
bowls, as I am told the ultra-refined in Suburbia are wont 
to name that useful part of the tea service. I saw it 
shown at one of the R.H.S. meetings, and ordered a plant 
at once, and though at least six years ago it is still innocent 
of rearing children. The other is a lilac-blue form, the 
one often shown and listed as C. celtidifolia, a name which it 
appears is nothmg but a synonym. There is a widespread 
idea that the blue form is C. celtidifolia and the white C. 
lactiflora, and I believe it arises from an imperfect examina- 
tion of the literature of the species, and just shows how 
careful one must be when working out the identity 

209 O 

My Garden in Summer 

of a plant. The facts are, I believe, these : Bieberstein 
first described the plant, and seems only to have met 
with the lighter forms, and so wrote " corollisque . . . 
lacteis aut dilutissime coeruleis." Then Boissier met 
with the blue, and under the name of C. celtidi/olia de- 
scribed it as " cSrolla azurea," and he must have had 
incomplete specimens before him, for he only allows it a 
stem of two and a half feet. But in his later work, the 
Flora Orientalis, he himself makes his celtidifolia to be the 
same as Bieberstein's lactiflora, and writes " corolla , . . 
albida vel coerulea " which quite clears away the myth 
of a dwarf and blue form which should be called celtidi- 
folia. I had spent an hour hunting up references at the 
Natural History Museum at South Kensington before I 
discovered this illuminating entry in the Flora Orientalis. 
Several other Campanulas, and their near relations the 
Wahlenbergias, are now making a show. A good tall 
one is another of Miss Anderson's kind gifts, namely C. 
sibirica, which has the general appearance of a very much 
improved C. rapunculoides, that horrible pest of most gardens, 
which runs about faster than the most active gardener can 
dig, filling one's choice beds with pink roots and leaves 
like a violet's, only more pointed, and it blossoms so seldom 
that it is not worthy of having even an untidy corner left 
to it. C. sibirica certainly runs too, but not very swiftly or 
very far, and it makes up for it by flowering very freely and 
producing yard-long spikes of beautifully shaped bells. I 
have had somewhat similar plants under the name C. 
Grossekii and C. pulcherrima ; but they are great offenders 
in the running line and flower less handsomely than sibirica, 


How July Begins 

so this latter species remains prime favourite. Just 
when they are at their best it is hard to beat the various 
forms of C. latifolia, such as its variety macrantha, both 
purple and white, and a closely allied plant I have as C. 
lamiifolia, and therefore must be wrongly named, as that 
seems to be no more than a synonym of C. alliariaefolia, 
while my plant is an even larger flowered form than 
macrantha, and may be a white form of another mysterious 
stranger, which ever since I knew it has borne the name 
of C tomentosa, but I think has no right to it. 

These are all giants, of course, but there are many 
dwarf Campanulas in flower in early July, and one of the 
loveliest is a wee plant I saw for the first time on the 
Clapham Nursery's table rock-garden at the summer show 
the R.H.S. held at Olympia, and I thought it the gem of 
the whole show. It bore the name C. caespitosa Miranda, 
and my admiration of it, and questionings as to its his- 
tory, brought for reply from Mr. Farrer a healthy 
youngster in a thumb pot, with no history but an injunc- 
tion to grow and enjoy it, but not to permit it to go any 
further until, like the starter of a race, he gave the word 
" Go." This July it is simply adorable in the fish-hatchery 
moraine, only two inches high, and its sturdy little grey- 
green leaves almost smothered with its short, wide-open 
bells, which are of the most fascinatingly quiet, cool 
lavender-grey imaginable, lovely enough by themselves, 
but by accident of both being new treasures, I planted it 
next to Lewisia Howellii, and the two flowered together, 
and the salmony-orange Lewisia flowers were the very 
exact bit of colour one's artistic nature would have longed 


My Garden in Summer 

for against the cool, grey Campanula. Mr. Farrer has not 
yet said " Go," but Miranda has started running, though it 
is not likely to outrun the bounds of this garden for some 
time, for it is quite possible that, even after she is issuing 
freely from Clapham at so many florins the square inch, 
I may still find some chinks between edging stones that 
want filling with her dainty bells, as I feel sure I can 
never have too much of her. A somewhat similarly pale- 
coloured beauty overhangs a stone higher up in the same 
moraine, but has a slightly warmer tone. It is, I believe, 
a very nearly white form of C. linifolia, but has preserved 
a slight wash of rosy lilac, which appears chiefly in young 
blooms. I came across it in a wonderful spot, outside a 
little village in the hills behind Lago di Garda. At the 
time I was busily picking up white fragments of lime- 
stone from a vast stretch of debris at the foot of the 
hills, picking them up and throwing them over my 
shoulder as hard as I could do so, in a way that must 
have looked like an acute attack of lunacy. But there 
was method in my madness, for these barren-looking stone 
slides, when viewed at close quarters, were seen to be full 
of Cyclamen europeum in every stage of youth, adolescence, 
maturity, and old age, from babes with single leaves the 
size of the King's ear on a penny postage stamp, and 
a transparent corm no bigger than the eye of a mouse, 
to those with corms which looked like half a devilled 
kidney and bore many leaves and crimson flowers, lying 
on the surface of, or filling the chinks between, the white 
stones. To gather the roots no trowel was needed, only 
patience, and the throwing away of the stones until you 


How July Begins 

reached the corm sitting on a pinch of soil formed by 
decayed vegetable matter washed down among the stones. 
Working up this stone-slide on hands and knees I sud- 
denly came upon a great tuft of the pallid bells of the 
Campanula, and took away a portion of it to chaperon 
the Cyclamens in their journey to England. 

How the sight of it now carries me back to that hill- 
side behind picturesque Castellar, as Mr. Farrer has re- 
named the village in his Among the Hills, and how I should 
like a magic carpet to take me there to grub out more 
Cyclamens, and after gathering enough and a meal under 
the vine trellis of the Albergo, to go down among the 
hemp crops at dusk and inhale the sweetness of vine 
blossoms, and listen to the racket of the tree-frogs. To 
watch the whole place light up and twinkle with the 
lucirolli of both kinds, the orange-yellow lighted ones 
that come out first and turn their light off at regular in- 
tervals as they fly, producing two seconds of warm yellow 
light followed by two of darkness, like some revolving light 
in a light-house, and then, when the place is twinkling 
with them, like the lights that dance to one's eyes from a 
gently rippling sea with the sun in full face of you, the 
green-lighted fireflies put in their appearance, and fly 
more steadily and keep their light going all the time. 
That is the reward for going out to gather one's own 
plants — first happy hours in quaint and picturesque 
places, full of good sights, sounds, and scents, to be en- 
joyed then and remembered afterwards, when the un- 
pleasant ones can be forgotten, and then in after years 
to have your treasures recall it all again as you look 


My Garden in Summer 

at them. Yes, visions of far away and un-get-at-able 
Castellar are pleasanter than those of making pencil marks 
in a nurseryman's catalogue, and adding up pounds, 
shillings, and pence till they agree somewhat with our 
spare cash. 

C, cenisia in the piped moraine carries me up to La 
Nunda, the fort above the Lac du Mont Cenis, and a curious 
black shale rather like coal-dust out of which the Cam- 
panula's precious white threads must be coaxed. C. cenisia 
does not seem to love granite chips so much as that black 
mess, and I have been wondering lately whether small 
coal would not make a very useful moraine. I think I 
shall try it, for even should it prove a failure it might 
come in useful next time we suffer from a coal strike, 
and C. cenisids blue stars would look well against the black 
surface. I think they are the nearest to blue of any 
Campanula, for Loddiges' figure of C rhomboidalis in all its 
azure beauty is just a painted lie. C. excisa likes the sand 
moraine, and has behaved like some common Chickweed 
might in it this season. I put out a few seedlings last 
year, as I thought a thin cloud of their hair-like growths 
would be the very thing to keep Gentiana verna shaded and 
cool during the dbg days. But I did not reckon on excisa's 
power of spreading, and it ran like a lamplighter. Why does 
one say " like a lamplighter," I wonder ? Did that useful 
member of urban life ever run in the days of oil lamps ? 
Perhaps they went wrong so often he had to run round all 
night putting them right. All the lamplighters I have ever 
known were very slow-footed folk, and now in these days 
of automatic bypasses the only one I see goes about on a 


How July Begins 

bicycle apparently with nothing to do but to admire the illu- 
mination. Anyway, C. excisa runs like a lamplighter is sup- 
posed to, and it filled the Gentian bed so whole-heartedly 
that I had to tear out handfuls of its greenery and pale 
bells to let some light in to the Gentians, but I fancy it will 
exhaust the chemicals it likes from the soil, and continue 
to run only outwards in an ever-increasing circle like the 
ripple caused by a stone in a pond, dying out in the centre. 
I could give away a hatful of its white underground run- 
ners at any time this Summer, and yet perhaps I may be 
begging a bit back in a year's time, for I like its queer 
little bells, and the tiny round holes that look for all the 
world as though they had been bitten out by Bumble-bees 
to keep their jaws in good form for the days of the Scarlet- 
runner blossoms that they have learnt to steal honey from 
in a burglarious fashion. 

Two Wahlenbergias from the southern hemisphere 
have crept into my affections lately, though one is practi- 
cally an annual here, and the other doubtfully hardy. 
Both have been lately thrown into the melting-pot by Mr. 
N. E. Brown as to their naming, and I now feel as much 
puzzled as to what to call them as Good Queen Bess was 
in the case of the Bishop's wife. I used to believe the 
perennial but tender one was W. saxicola — but now if I 
trust Mr. Brown it must be albomarginata, for it has not 
got the " bright light blue " blossoms he declares to be in- 
dispensable for the true saxicola from Tasmania. It is an 
awful wrench to my trusting soul to have to imagine that 
so great, and recent, and on-the-very-spot an authority, as 
Mr. Cheeseman can possibly be wrong about New Zealand 


My Garden in Summer 

plants. Anyway, though saxicola I dare not call it because 
of its almost but not quite white flowers, it seems to have 
enjoyed the last mild Winter in the fish-hatchery moraine, 
and has formed a broad green mat now bearing many 
slender stems, each with a silvery grey bell or a bud. The 
other I used to call W. gracilis, believing it came from 
New Zealand and following the Index Kewensis — which just 
lumps everything it can catch under gracilis — and Cheese- 
man, who apparently knows only three species and lives 
among them. Now I think I must call it W. vincaeflora, 
and try to believe it is a perennial, in spite of not only its 
annual appearance but also its annual disappearance here. 

Whatever it is, it is a beautiful plant, and quite worth 
the trouble of saving a pinch of its minute seed to start in 
a pot each Spring, for a baby thing of six leaves put out 
in the rock garden in April will be a cloud of exquisitely 
soft lilac-blue from July till sharp frosts spoil the flowers. 
I cannot see why it should not sow itself, but so far it has 
not, or else we have failed to recognise its seedlings, and 
have weeded them out. 

Meconopsis integrifolia is good in this my latest moraine, 
in the sandy and peaty poftion near the watering drain- 
pipe, and its great, lemon-yellow flowers have long enough 
stalks for once to satisfy me. Hitherto they have always 
been short and looked out of proportion to the flowers, 
and even now I am not greatly in love with it, and think 
when its nasty biennial ways have carried the last of my 
plants off I shall not bother about replacing it, and I don't 
suppose it will sow itself. It always strikes me as looking 
somewhat artificial, as if made of crinkled paper, and set 


How July Begins 

on one of those compressed cotton-wool stalks that support 
the peculiar class of sham flower designed for the decora- 
tion of small tables in provincial hotels, awful plant parodies 
that make my flesh creep. Quite a contrast to the clumsy 
build of the Meconopsis is the graceful tangle made by 
that uncommon little shrub Atraphaxis Billardieri, of which 
I have a good single specimen on the rock garden that is 
attractive even when out of flower, for it looks something 
like a Muehlenbeckia with a stiffer habit like that of 
Corokta Cotoneaster, and its fine, wiry stems and small dark 
leaves contrast well with its neighbours. These are a fine 
specimen of Crataegus Oxyacantha inermis, the Thornless 
Thorn, the close-packed leaves and thick stems of which are 
the exact opposites of the Atraphaxis, a round-headed bush 
of Ononis fruticosa, and a spreading mound of a variegated 
tree Ivy. The Atraphaxis needs a stake or two as it has 
grown some five feet high, and must be kept from sprawl- 
ing out too widely into its neighbours, which were planted 
rather nearer to it than they would have been had I then 
known the dimensions they would all assume later on. 
At the end of June A. Billardieri covers itself with bunches 
of small, white blossoms very much like those of Poly- 
gonum baldschuanicum ; they last in flower for a long time, 
and remain on until the seeds are ripe, which is from 
about the middle of July into August. As the little 
triangular seeds turn black, so the parts of the flower 
begin to flush pink, and finally become a deep rose 
colour, and are as loth to fall off as I am to lose them» 
so that well into August the bush glows with rosy tints. 
As the triangular seeds proclaim, it is a Polygonaceous 


My Garden in Summer 

plant and a near relation of the Docks and Sorrels, but I 
have never yet found a self-sown seedling as the result of 
the many hundreds of seeds it bears, and how I wish I 
could say the same of its vulgar, more pushing relations 
named above. My plant was given me as a yearling by 
Doctor MliUer, and about four years afterwards he saw 
it here in flower, and asked what that lovely thing was, 
I was as much surprised at his asking its name as he 
was to learn it, for his plants of the same age had shown 
no sign of flowers, and he had no idea they could be so 
beautiful. I have another species, A. lanceolata, from the 
Cambridge Botanic Garden, but it has a less neat habit 
and larger leaves, so that in spite of larger flowers it is 
not so pleasing in general effect. I have tried another 
twain from Tiflis, of which A. buxifolia has lingered on, 
but it has disclosed no charm as yet, and the other died 
because it resented being shifted out of a pot the seedlings 
had occupied for three months. 




Although my sensitive nose suffers so much from Grass 
and the flowers of Grasses, my eye delights in the beauty 
of form that the Grass family provides. I give a rather 
wider meaning to the term Grasses than is strictly and 
botanically correct, using it for garden purposes to in- 
clude not only the Bamboos, as is legitimate, but sundry 
Sedges and Rushes that produce effects in the garden 
similar to those of the true Grasses. One often sees well- 
filled gardens where about the only Grasses are those that 
form the turf of the lawns and a clump of Pampas Grass 
and possibly a Miscanthus or two, but just as bulbous 
plants never look so well as when naturalised in grass as, 
for instance, the Daffodils at Warley, and even the Cro- 
cuses in Regent's Park, so I think many of our gorgeous 
summer flowers look all the better when they have clumps 
of grassy foliage or feathery flowering heads growing 
among them to soften their effect. 

The alpine meadow is my beau ideal of a large flower 
bed, and when flowers of every hue are distributed over a 
waving undergrowth of greenery of all shades from 
bronze to pea green, and thence to the green of the sea, 
even the most combative tints are rendered peaceful, and 


My Garden in Summer 

their sharp corners rounded off to the sensitive eye, by 
the wholesome balm of surrounding verdure. I would 
give anything possible in the shape of toil and thought, 
even putting up with such evils as dirty nails and worn-out 
garments, to achieve even a quarter of an acre of such a 
meadow as those I was rushed past in the autobus on the 
outskirts of Predazzo in the Dolomites. I passed through 
those two or three miles of living tapestry three times in 
one week, and each time I nearly screwed my head off 
trying to see everything on both sides of the road, longing 
for the optical opulence of the Beast of the Apocalypse, 
who was full of eyes behind and before. I never saw 
such a wealth of Salvia pratensis elsewhere, for solid lakes 
and meres of royal purple were provided by it, whose 
shores were spangled with a mixture of its own purple 
mingled with St. Bruno's Lily till the effect reminded me of 
cream and whortleberries not thoroughly stirred together, 
and conjured up visions of luncheons at wayside inns and 
farmhouses on Exmoor. Then Anemone alpina, Orchids 
of almost every species in Europe except those that must 
have morass or deep woodland shade ; crimson Onobrychis, 
blue Campanulas, yellow Goat's Beard, pink Bistort, and a 
thousand other delights were inextricably woven into the 
grassy background. Now the effect of squares and tri- 
angles of each of these various plants packed into an 
ordinary border with large labels to each phalanx and 
bare soil between them would be a paltry mess without 
their grass background and the natural and irregular dis- 
tribution of the clumps or single specimens of each. I 
want to see a bed full of Delphiniums and orange and white 



Lilies, and our best herbaceous plants, but with an under- 
current of tufty grasses. Then, again, on a smaller scale, 
I long for the close, short turf that makes the natural set- 
ting for Gentians and Primula minima, Viola calcarata, and 
Douglasia, but so far have failed to find a tiny grass that 
is content to play second fiddle and will not, like the 
Campanula excisa of the last chapter, insist upon banging 
the big drum. 

Mibora verna, a minute annual and a rare native 
species found in Anglesea, is the best I have found for the 
grassing of the moraine, but it makes tufts not turf, and 
dies away in the height of Summer, not appearing again 
until after the August thunderstorms. It is a dainty 
little thing, just tufts of pea-green hair like fat paint- 
brushes filled with Hooker's Green, and then from 
January onward it bears tiny spikes of purple-black 
blossoms with conspicuously white anthers and stigmas, 
that powder their heads so thoroughly they look as 
white as that of the tallest footman who ever wore 
powder. So you must not expect to see the miniature 
alpine turf in the moraine or the waving meadow in 
the herbaceous bed as yet, for both of these things are 
still ideals that I am working for but have not achieved, 
although I believe both are growing nearer to my grasp. 
I have worked diligently in collecting grasses, and many 
kinds are under probation, and several only need heaving 
up and planting among the gayer plants whenever the 
chance for remodelling a bed may arrive. I make a 
point of visiting the grass beds in every Botanic Garden I 
enter, and an open eye and a notebook have already 


My Garden in Summer 

gone far to teach me the range of useful grasses suitable 
for our climate. I first look for a tufted habit combined 
with a graceful appearance. It is difficult to harden one's 
heart to refuse the charms of some species with running 
habits, but as there is a sufficient wealth of good, tidy 
stay-at-homes, it is wiser to do so. The grass beds teach 
one that point, but it is only by trial at home one learns 
whether or not the grass is too free a seeder. I have 
only found two that are sufficiently plaguey to cause 
loss of temper. Of these Melica altissima is so hand- 
some with its wide, pale green foliage, and rich purple 
or pale flesh-coloured flower-heads, that one must have 
it, and so put up with spending an anxious ten 
minutes now and then in extracting a tufted seedling 
from the centre of Aphyllanthes monspeliensis, or some 
other choice plant of grassy appearance in whose shel- 
tering arms it has lain hidden until it has reached a 
size that makes it hard to extract. The other is Festtica 
elatior, a fine, rough, handsome grass, growing four 
feet high, but better in a wild garden than in my ideal 

Now for some really good ones ; but please remember 
that, the sorting out of grasses by botanical descriptions 
being rather dull work, I have taken the names of those 
that came to me from Botanic Gardens or reliable sources 
on trust as readily as a dog does his biscuit, and have 
snapped up the plants as greedily as my dog does when 
the magic words " Paid for " close his bargain. Many of 
the Airas are very useful, and even A. caespitosa, though so 
undesirable in pasture land, where farmers execrate it as 



hossacks, is fine for a fairly moist place, and makes a neat 
rounded tuft ; whilst the tall flowering stems, delightfully 
light and elegant, appear in July and last until Spring. 
A very fine form of this plant was brought from New 
Zealand, called by a new name which I have forgotten, 
and managed to make a successful d6but as a new 
grass until the Kew authorities recognised it as only a 
large form of our wild grass. I burnt its label but left 
the plant, and it has made a very handsome tussock in 
the rock garden, and when in flower is nearly five feet in 
height from ground to flower top. Another Aira came 
to me as A. flexuosa, but I have misgivings as to its iden- 
tity, and it may be a dwarf form of A. caespitosa. It is 
very useful to plant among herbaceous things, making low 
green tufts and a feathery mass of flowery stems, which 
are attractive from flowering time in July, when the photo- 
graph facing p. 2,24 was taken, until one must tidy them 
away in Spring. Although it must bear many thou- 
sands of seeds, I have never yet noticed a self-sown 
seedling, and I can only increase it by division. 

There is a lovely and interesting form of A. caespitosa 
which I have always called A. vivipara. It is a mountain 
form, and keeps up its habit of increase by young plants 
produced by the flower-stems in place of flowers just as 
much in this hot, dry garden as it originally did on cloud- 
soaked mountain sides, where pollen would have no chance 
of doing its work of fertilisation ; so from July onwards 
one gets dense plumes of brilliant green thread-like leaves 
in place of grey, fluffy flower-heads, their only fault being 
that when heavy rains soak the thick green plumes they 


My Garden in Summer 

fall over to rise no more. As they last green and fresh until 
late ill Autumn it is best to plant it on a bank by a stream 
side, or in the rock garden where the heads can hang down, 
and it looks especially well among ferns and tufts of the 
Gladwin, Iris foetidissima, in rather wild places. Stipa calama- 
grostis is a very fine grass ; the long, feathery inflorescences 
are produced freely, and reach some two feet high, arch- 
ing out all round the tuft j they are very soft and feathery 
when fresh, and as they dry they turn to a pleasing light 
buff and last on the plant all the Winter. Stipa formicaria 
I have already praised for its long, waving, hygroscopic 
awns ; but its long, hair-like, deep green leaves deserve a 
word of praise, too, they are so long and so light, but it 
sows itself rather too freely for the very unco' neat, perhaps. 
S. gigantea is very well behaved in this line, and does not 
increase unduly, and the stiff, upright flower-stems bear 
long awns arching out on either side in a way that gives 
it an air of its own. S. pennata, the long plumes of 
which look so wonderfully like an extra long piece 
of ostrich feather blown out of some lady's boa, does not 
grow too well here, and I want more of it, for it is won- 
derfully effective in the foreground, and reminds me of 
Italian alpine slopes. I have made a collection of grasses 
in a bed near by the pond with just a few showy 
flowering plants among them, and I am well pleased with 
the contrasts afforded by the various species. The tallest 
there is Miscanthus saccharifer, whose stems annually reach 
six feet or more and are very handsome, with ample leaves 
springing from them. A Millet I have had for a long time 
under the name Panicum maximum comes next for size, and 



has grand, arching, deep green leaves, and gets about 
five or six feet high each season before the first sharp frost 
cuts it down. It is not over hardy here, and is the better 
for some ashes placed over the roots in sharp winters ; it 
requires good feeding and the thinning out of its shoots 
to get the full size of its leaves if it is left in the ground 
for more than two seasons. A still better plan is to lift 
and divide the stools in Autumn and start strong pieces in 
a house in Spring to plant out when frost is over. Even 
by so doing I have never got it to perfect its flowers here, 
though in one hot season they began to push out of the 
top growths. Panicum virgatum is hardier, and one of the 
lightest and most effective of tall flowering grasses, about 
four feet high and at its best in Autumn. P. clandestinum, 
as its name suggests, is rather unobtrusive about its matri- 
monial arrangements, and the spikes of flowers scarcely 
appear out of the large rolled, upper leaves ; but it has a 
neat, close habit and remarkably wide, light-green leaves, 
the whole plant growing about eighteen inches high. 
Oryzopsis miliacea is a great treasure, as its long flower- 
stems bend out most gracefully and carry light plumes of 
great length ; it never seems tired of flowering, but 
throws up fresh stems as green and fair as those of June 
until well into November, keeping the grass bed waving 
and summery until hoar frosts transform it into a thicket 
of corals and crystals fit for a mermaid's garden. 

I dug up a very tufted, stiff-leaved grass on Mont 
Cenis, chiefly because it aroused ray interest by looking, 
in its spring resurrection garb, so exactly like a tuft of 
Crocus leaves that it often deceived even my Crocus- 

225 p 

My Garden in Summer 

trained eye, and made me believe I had lit upon some 
extra fine and strong form of C vemus, until I was close 
enough to look for the tell-tale white, central stripe which 
reveals most Crocuses. Of course it was never there, 
and I got a little cross with the Crocus-grass, but brought 
a tuft home to learn more of its ways. It has taken two 
years to get settled and pluck up heart enough to flower, 
and I rather like the close, heavy heads, as they are of a 
peculiar dark shade of brown, and unlike any other grass 
I possess. But I thought it better to cut them off young, 
in case they behaved as they seemed to promise, and 
sowed themselves everywhere, and made me believe they 
were Crocuses once more. Uniola latifolia is a good 
perennial grass three feet high, neat and upright in habit, 
and with pretty flower-heads like those of Briza maxima, 
but as though they had been pressed flat. Pennisetum 
macrourum, from South Africa, gets knocked about here 
in severe winters, but when kindly treated by Jack Frost 
produces in July long tails, as its specific name so plainly 
promises. These are eight inches or more in length and 
cylindrical, about half an inch in diameter, and look like 
a hybrid between a Siamese cat's tail and a pipe-cleaner. 
Lygeum Spartium has narrow rush-like leaves, and very 
curious flowers and seeds that look like one huge oat 
placed at a right angle with the end of the stem, and 
wrapped in a silky jacket. It is an interesting plant, 
because, like the Esparto Grass (Stipa), it has been largely 
used for paper-making, and I have been told that at one 
period The Times was printed on paper made from it. 
Elymus glaucus is a coarse runner and robber, and many 



things that it ought not to be ; but it is so blue and so 
hardy, and so easily rendered happy in a dry corner, 
that it is a precious possession, not only for its garden 
effect, but also for cutting for a tall vase, for its foot and 
a half long, glaucous leaves live well in water. It has 
made a pleasant picture here near the end of one of 
the paved walks by walking about among some white- 
flowered Thalictrum aquilegifolium and blue Comfreys, but 
it would soon strangle them all if I did not occasionally 
come to their rescue, and loose its cruel fingers from 
their necks. E, giganteus is less violent, and though not 
so blue, is well worth growing, as it is a tall, handsome 
grass with large, wheat-like ears. 

When a sheltered corner and light soil can be given 
it Arundo Donax is the king of grasses for foliage effect, 
and will shoot up twelve-feet-high stems, each bearing 
about forty wide leaves of a fine glaucous green. In 
warm climates, and here after mild winters, these stems 
shoot out in their second year from almost every node 
and make a mass of grey foliage, but then are not so 
effective as the young shoots of the year, and, of course, 
if many of the old stems persist the young ones do not 
grow so tall or so strong ; so I prefer to cut them all 
down in early Spring except two of the very tallest, 
which I leave to show their habit of shooting out, and 
also as a gauge to measure the new shoots against. 
I find it is only hardy enough to be really effective 
here in a well-drained spot, and my finest clump crowns 
a mound in the wilder part of the rock garden, a 
mountain whose main geological feature is a sandiness 


My Garden in Summer 

le to its being composed of road scrapings. The 
riegated form of this Giant Reed is one of the most 
arious of all variegated plants, but not hardy enough 

be more than a chronic invalid out of doors here, and 
put out for the Summer the variegation gets scorched, 

it has to live in a sanatorium — I mean the conserva- 
ry. A. conspicua, from New Zealand, is better further 
luth or West, as it likes both moisture and warmth, and 
! cannot combine the two, so it also struggles along 
th occasional illnesses and long convalescences, and it 
not every season we get its graceful Pampas-grass-like 
umes, that should come two months earlier than those 

the Pampas-grass, which latter are too often ruined by 
)st. With the exception of Bamboos and Miscanthus 
ecies, which are at their best in the Autumn, and so 
ust be reserved for a later review of the garden, I 
ve mentioned most of the larger forms of Grasses I 
ve tried, and we must now turn to the smaller fry 
ited for the edge, or about a foot from it in the border. 
Melica uniflora from Surrey lanes is as useful as any, 
>t easily offended with any sort of treatment ; a graceful, 
ir green tuft for most months of the year, and its little 
rrow flower-spikes are charming. I have, too, a very 
ettily variegated form of it that looks well among its 
een kith and kin. Melka papilionacea is addicted to ne- 
itisni, and plants out descendants rather too freely, but 
ey are neither deep rooters nor runners, and so are 
sily dislodged when not required ; its long flower-spikes 
ow delightfully white and silky in old age, and are not 

be despised in their proper place. Even in the rock 



garden a good tuft growing in a crevice is not always an 
intruder, and sometimes gives shelter or an effect of con- 
trast one may be glad of. Bouteloua oligostachya comes from 
New Zealand, and is a dainty little species for the rock- 
garden with very fine leaves and the quaintest make of 
flower-heads : they stand at right angles to their stalks, and 
are for all the world like a little brush made on purpose to 
go with a small doll's dustpan. These little brown brushes 
last on the plant for a long time, and I like to see a tuft 
or two of their sombre, soft hues among the bright alpine 
flowers. A good Cotton Grass I found in Tyrol among 
the tufts of Primula minima has accompanied them home, 
and waves its snowy-white tassels over their heads to 
remind them of the Rolle Pass where both were born. 
Poa alpina vivipara also finds an honoured place among 
Edelweiss and Primulas, and its bright green tassels of 
budding youngsters stand upright for a good long time, 
and then fall over and lie on the ground, but do not seem 
to have the sense to arrange matters well enough for the 
babes to fall off and get rooted on their own account, and 
unless I intervene and plant them, they simply lie there 
attached to the stem until some extra grilling dog-day 
frizzles them up, or a garden visitor finds a home and use 
for them. The ordinary form with its dwarf tufts and 
purplish-grey flower-heads is quite worthy of admission 
to the rock garden, and is good in tufts here and there 
among a colony of various Houseleeks. Briza maxima I 
have already praised as a self-sowing annual, but B. media, 
the native Quaking-grass, is perennial, and a pretty effect 
may be obtained by allowing a tuft or two to grow in the 


My Garden in Summer 

rock garden. It occurs in our meadows, but I never 
thought of bringing it into the garden until I accidentally 
introduced it with a Gentian from Mont Cenis. The 
dwarf Fescues provide some most useful species for 
forming cushions at the edge of the borders, or velvety 
mounds among the rocks. Festuca viridis is a fine deep 
green, and F. glauca one of the best blue-grey plants in 
existence. The flowers of these two are not effective 
enough to add to the attraction of the dense cushions, so 
I like to pull them out as soon as they appear, which 
thickens the growth of the tufts. The best dwarf varie- 
gated grass is Molinia coerulea foil, var., and in the early 
Summer many of the tufts have more white than green 
in them ; it makes the more generally grown variegated 
Cock's-foot, Dadylis glomerata, look grey and dull beside its 
purer white. Arrhenatherum bulbosum has a good silver 
variegated form, too, but needs frequently replanting in 
good soil to keep it in its best form. All of these look 
well if mixed among green forms, but the golden Grasses 
are better kept away from them. Phleum pratense is the 
best striped golden one, and very brilliant in Spring and 
early Summer if the flower-heads are pulled out when 
young, for that helps to keep it both golden and dwarf, so 
that it is suitable for the front of the border. I have 
already written of the pure yellow Grass I got without a 
name from Birmingham Botanic Garden and the pallid 
gold, like the worn-out gilding in the bowl of an old egg- 
spoon, of a so-called Golden Cock's-foot, but I must tell 
of a fine tall one, Miscanthus japonicus fol. var,, which came 
to me from The Holt garden in happy days when its 



cheery, kindly planner and planter, Andrew Kingsmill, 
was still among his friends and plants. It is so much 
like the Common Reed in general appearance that I mis- 
took it for a well-grown paich of the variegated form of 
this plant when I first saw it at Harrow Weald, and it 
was after some years of admiration, when I asked how 
it grew so tall in so comparatively dry a spot, that I was 
told its true genus, and, of course, instantly asked for a 
bit. I was handed a basket and fork and bidden to help 
myself, according to the generous custom at The Holt, and 
how I toiled to dig down to the running rhizome which I 
knew must exist somewhere to connect the tall stems, and 
how they persisted in breaking away with so little of any- 
thing that looked of a growing nature, and likely to pro- 
duce a young plant 1 I never got down to the runners, 
but every piece of broken stem I brought away rooted 
well after it had been potted and* petted up for a few 
months, and now they are beginning to spread in the 
Bamboo bed here. 

Sedges are not Grasses, of course, on account of their 
more perfectly formed flowers ; but for garden effect they 
can mostly be reckoned among them. Exceptions are Carex 
Fraseri, with dark, broad, leathery leaves suggestive of a 
small Aspidistra, and wonderful ivory-white flowers among 
them in Spring ; C. scaposa, much like it but with pink 
flowers ; and C pyrenaica, with handsome tufts of broad 
green leaves more like those of a Plantain than a Sedge, 
and dull brown flowers. These three like moist, shady 
corners of the rock garden and a good deal of attention ; 
even then they are fussy and fretful, disinclined to be 


My Garden in Summer 

friendly, and will never make themselves cheap. Quite 
otherwise, C. balden$is runs out in all directions, and soon 
makes a mat of its narrow, bright-green leaves. I have 
never been up Monte Baldo to see it there, but was 
pleased to meet with it on the hills on the opposite side of 
Garda, where also grew a smaller and neater species with 
white flowers, very attractive as seen there, but which has 
not yet settled down enough here to display its charms. 
C, Vilmorinu is a tufted species from New Zealand, at 
least so says the Kew Hand-list; but it is not to be found in 
Cheeseman's Manual. I only know it in a variegated 
form which comes true from seed, and should greatly like 
to learn more of its history and whether a green form is in 
cultivation. It makes an interesting-looking tuft of long, 
hair-like leaves, and the flowering stems are surprisingly 
long and very untidy as they straggle on the ground, and 
as it seeds with unpardonable freedom, I cut its hair when 
it gets too shaggy. Carex montana, a rare native, is as 
neat as the other is untidy, and makes a good wholesome 
green mat all the Summer, turns a fine fox-red in Autumn, 
and bears delightful, black paint-brushes for flowers in 
Spring, which, as they lengthen, hang over and then 
become dusted with pollen as if dipped in yellow paint. 
C. Buchananii is claimed by Cheeseman for New Zealand, 
and finds honourable mention in the Manual. It must 
be a curious sight where large districts, as Cheeseman 
states, are covered with the reddish-purple form of this 
Sedge. Here, among green plants, it looks as though it 
were dead, for the upper surface of each leaf is a drab 
or buff colour and the lower side is a purplish-brown, 



even in the youngest leaves, and it looks as though it must 
feel dry and withered to the touch ; whereas it is actually 
very cool and smooth, and most likely pleasantly juicy to 
browse. I have another somewhat similarly coloured 
Sedge I raised from seed given me by Captain Pinwill, 
but it is redder and never looks so thoroughly defunct 
as C. Buchananii. Scirptts Holoschoenus has tall rush-like 
leaves and very distinct flower-heads gathered into round 
balls on short stalks of various lengths growing from the 
main stalk ; it looks well among other grassy plants, and 
holds the flower-heads of one year until those of the next 
are ready to take their place. It is rare in England, and 
one of the special plants of Braunton Burrows in North 

There are many other grassy plants scattered about 
the garden, especially in and around the ponds, such as 
Cladium martscus and Cyperus longus, which have already 
received their meed of praise. Cyperus vegetus, on the 
contrary, will only live here, in very hot and dry places, 
although in warmer climates it prefers moisture. It is of 
American origin, but widely naturalised in South-western 
Europe. Its inflorescences are curiously like green 
parrot's feathers, as they are made up of closely-packed 
floral scales in two opposite ranks. Others that like wet 
feet and catch no colds in their heads from perpetual 
sloppiness are Carex Gaudichaudiana, which came all the 
way from Japan, but is much like some of our native 
tussock-forming Sedges; Schoenus nigricans,hom. the Norfolk 
Broads, which has long, rush-like stems with tufted heads 
of black flowers on the top of each, and Juncus acutus, 


My Garden in Summer 

quite a youngster as yet, but which makes a handsome 
clump of stiff, dark-green leaves when mature, very notice- 
able and distinct among lighter grasses, Sesleria nivea looks 
a rather coarse weed except when covered by its white 
spikes. S. coerulea is neater, but has disappointed me so far 
in producing precious little blue in its flowers, and it was 
only because in books it was pictured as blue as a summer 
sky that I wanted it ; and the same complaint attaches 
to Luzula lutea as regards its golden reputation, for here 
again the artists have flattered the sitter, and not even at 
home in the Alps do I ever see it the brilliant creature of 
their fancy, yet I give it a welcome as it reminds me 
pleasantly of my first meeting with it at the turn by the 
Waterfall in the steep ascent to Piora. Several other 
Luzulas are worth growing, and L. nivea, from the Alps, is 
welcome to sow itself as it likes in the rock garden and to 
wave its snowy heads from carpets of Aubrietia or cracks 
in rocks. L. maxima from North Devon is a charming 
iush-green plant for a shady place where it will not dry 
up, and L. marginata, given me by Mr, Chambers, seems 
easy to please, and looks like a form of maxima with the 
added charm of silver lines edging each leaf. A handsome 
evergreen grass grows in a bed on the lawn, and provides 
suitable leaves in Winter for picking to use with Iris ungui- 
cularis, and sends up tall, thin stems with beautifully light 
heads, which are good to look at all through the Winter, 
especially in sunlight or when covered with hoar frost. 
The sparrows are fond of its seeds, and have found out 
that they can perch on the heads and so weigh them 
down till they touch the ground, when they pick out all 



the seeds while they hold them down ; then they fly to 
another head, grasp it firmly, and fluttering gently bend 
it down. I was very angry with them when I first wit- 
nessed this performance, making certain they would ruin 
the effect of the plant for ,the Winter ; but I soon noticed 
that the grass stems did not break, but as soon as the 
sparrow got off them rose up into their places again, so 
I now rather enjoy watching the feast. At one time I 
grew Apera arundinacea very well here, and its wonderfully 
long, hanging heads and bronze autumn colouring de- 
lighted me both in the rock garden, where it hung over 
some big stones, and especially in some fine old stone 
vases ; but hard winters killed it, and I have never 
been able to get it to grow so strongly again. I shall 
keep on trying to do so, as the Pheasant's-tail Grass, as it 
is called — goodness knows why, as it is no more like a 
pheasant's tail than a pig's — is one of the most beautiful 
of all the light Grasses. 

I have reviewed some of the material for making a 
grass border or an alpine meadow, and even though I 
may never achieve it, I should be as proud as a dog 
with two tails if some one with greater space and 
leisure, and more gardeners and bawbees than I possess, 
should be fired by this chapter to bring the idea to 
perfection. I can see with my mind's eye how beauti- 
ful the soft, waving undergrowth would be if group- 
ings of five to fifteen specimens of the most suitable 
Grasses were planted so that Lilies, Asphodels, Eremuri, 
and Gladioli might spire up from between them, and 
Anchusas, Delphiniums and Monkshoods, Thalictrum and 


My Garden in Summer 

Chrysanthemum maximum^ Heleniums and Galtonia candicans, 
with Asters to follow, could grow in lines and clumps 
between the groups of different kinds of Grasses, while, 
nearer the front, Daffodils and Tulips in Spring, and 
perhaps Antirrhinums of yellow shades, for Summer or 
Autumn, could run in and out of the cushions of Fes- 
tucas and light carpets of Briza. If such a scheme 
should be adopted and prove a success, I hope I may 
be asked to go and see it, and I shall not expect to 
find a life-size statue of myself placed in the middle of 
the Ideal Meadow, even should this new phase of 
gardening become so popular as to supersede moraines, 
both in the garden and in horticultural small talk. One 
has seen much of the planting of flowers among grass, 
where grass already exists in meadows, but I have never 
yet met with a flower-bed of herbaceous plants, carpeted 
with tufts of Grasses between the flowers — I believe it 
could be done, and, what is more, that it would be worth 
the doing. 



There comes a time in July when the whole garden 
suddenly bursts into Daisies. I do not mean on the 
lawns — they have been old offenders for months already — 
but in the flower-beds, and where Marguerite would have 
had to hunt rather diligently for a fortune-telling Composite 
flower a month ago, she could now pluck a bouquet of 
all colours, and, if one gave her an undesired answer, 
another flower could be used of quite a different hue. 
Pyrethrum roseum she might find earlier in most gardens, 
but here it would not suit her purpose, for it is about 
the only flower in which I prefer the double to the 
single form, and a double Pyrethrum would need a 
deal of picking to bits. I think it is the vulgar, glaring 
yellow of their discs that makes me dislike the single 
Pyrethrum. It goes so badly with the crimson or rasp- 
berry-ice coloured forms, and I never saw a cream or 
buff single flower; white ones are scarcely wanted while 
the fields are full of Chrysanthemum lencanthemum, the Dog 
Daisies of some children, the Stinlfing Johnny Moons of 
others, I have a warm affection, though, for some double 
Pyrethrums, such as Solfaterre, of soft, creamy yellow 
shades, or pearl white and flushed pinks, but alas so have 


My Garden in Summer 

the slugs, though their affection is not seated in their eyes 
— I am not sure they have any — but in their ever filling, 
never full, adaptable stomachs, in which are combined 
the functions of progression and digestion. I attribute 
the failure of many plants in this garden entirely to slugs, 
the damage being done in February and March, when 
every bite into a newly-awakened bud cuts through 
many closely-packed leaves, and one of the reasons that 
newly constructed rock gardens and freshly dug borders 
produce such good results is the fact that they are not 
yet colonised by those marauding gasteropods. Aster 
alpinus, in its many lovely forms, loses every bud unless I 
visit it nightly with a lamp and hat-pin, or bury its growths 
in a sandy top-dressing, and I fear, in most seasons, I have 
to forgo the full measure of flowers, lacking time and 
patience for either of these operations. 

There are daisy-flowered subjects to be found in the 
rock garden in June, many Achilleas for instance, such 
as A. ClavenHae, A. moschata, and A. umbellata ; also real 
Daisies, varieties of Bellis perennis and B. rotundifolia 
coerulescens, which is flattered in English by being called 
the Blue Daisy because it isn't quite white. Pyrethrum 
Tckihatchewii, with its imitation sneeze of a name, bears 
white Daisies freely on its feathery green turf in June, 
but if you wish for Composite flowers of the Daisy type, 
suitable for large vases before mid- July, you must go to 
the hay meadows for Dog Daisies. But when the Cam- 
panula ladiflora rush is abating, the garden erupts Daisies 
everywhere, and a stream of them flows on that will not 
run dry until the last of the Aster Tradescantii flowers are 



overwhelmed by December frosts, and indoor Chry- 
santhemums have replaced the outdoor vase-fillers. Most 
daisy-flowered plants are suitable for cutting, and easy 
to arrange if used freely and naturally, lasting well in 
water; and I much enjoy the first July day when a whole 
flower-table is furnished with members of the Compositae. 
The Erigerons are, as a rule, the first comers, and I can 
recommend the beautiful seedling raised at Westwick, and 
now distributed as Quakeress, as one of the best. It is 
charming in a large group in a border, and equally so 
when cut, for it is lighter in habit than E. speciosus, and of a 
softer and more rosy-lilac shade. So we now grow a patch 
in the kitchen garden on purpose for cutting from freely, 
and I have known a vase of it to last in full beauty for a 
fortnight, even in hot weather that turned Sweet Peas 
and Roses into food for dustbins in two days. I imagine 
it is a seedling with the combined bloods of E. speciosus 
and the nearly white-flowered one known in gardens as 
salsuginosus, but quite wrongly, as is shown by a good plate 
of the true, stiff-stemmed, blue-flowered plant in an early 
number of the Botanical Magazine. This whitish flowered 
plant is graceful in habit and has the same hanging buds 
as Quakeress, but it is not very free in flowering, and pro- 
duces more blind rosettes than flower-stems, otherwise 
it would be useful to mix with deeper-coloured forms. 
Quakeress takes after speciosus in throwing up a dense 
sheaf of flower-stems, so that, even from one's show 
clumps in the herbaceous beds, many stems can be cut 
without spoiling the effect. Then comes Anthemis tinctoria, 
of which the pale, cream-coloured form, known as variety 


My Garden in Summer 

Kelwayi, is a good companion for the soft canary-yellow 
one, called E. C. Buxton, after that keen and skilful 
gardener, the owner of that beautiful garden at Bettws- 
y-coed, in which this line form first appeared, and whose 
generous hand soon afterwards uprooted a portion of it to 
be one of the delights of my garden. Anthemis flowers are 
inclined to sulk for a few hours after they find themselves 
removed from the open air and sunshine to a vase in a 
cool, shady room, putting back their ears behind their 
round faces in the same way as they do out-of-doors 
each evening, but the temper fit generally wears off next 
day, and, like the Doronicums of April and May, when 
once they put on a smiling expression and look pleasant, 
as the photographer suggests you should when you are 
fondly imagining you are looking your best, they keep it 
up day and night for the rest of their existence. 

Pure white Composites are not plentiful before the 
Tarious forms of Chtysanthemum maximum are in full swing, 
so at the beginning of July, both in the border and for 
cutting, I prize a good semi-double Chrysanthemum leucatt- 
themum that flowers later by some weeks than the wild 
form of the meadows, and lasts well. I got it from 
Ware's original Hale Farm nursery at Tottenham, so that 
alone shows it is no novelty, for the nursery has long 
since disappeared. It is a plant that requires pulling to 
bits and replanting every second year, and as boys say, 
though it is not greedy it certainly likes a lot, and of the 
best the chef of the garden can dish up — a souffle' of leaf 
soil and bone meal for instance. The flowers are to my 
thinking very pretty, having many ray florets, most of 



them narrower than in the wild type, and a few of the 
innermost are nearly as slender as threads, and stand upright 
in a way that softens the contrast of disc and rays. 

Another early white Composite is the fairly new, white 
form of Bidens dahlioides, which has so far proved hardy 
here. I prefer the white to the pink form, but both are 
pretty, and look like the flowers of a Cosmos growing 
singly on long, slender stems above the foliage of an 
Incarvillea. Rudbeckia nitida, Herbstone, is one of Perry's 
special treasures, and ought to be everybody's. It is a 
tall, strong-growing plant, seven feet high when well 
fed; the flowers are very showy and yet refined enough 
to cut for large vases, and even when so used, with 
stems of a yard in length they last well in water. The 
central cone is a good green, like that of a Rose-beetle 
without the metallic glitter, and it is about two to 
three inches high, tapering upward like a thimble or a 
Welshwoman's hat. The ray florets are wide, and hang 
downwards, and are of a superb rich yellow — I should 
say that of Narcissus maximus, and as the two can never 
meet it is a fairly safe thing to say. The balance of the 
flower is good and the leaves are handsome, and its stiff, 
upright habit is just what I like for plants of the back 
row that are wanted to tower up above lesser and more 
diffuse growers, as the towers and spires of a city should 
rise above its spreading roofs. So it is a fine Rudbeckia 
all round, and flowers from early to late, especially if the 
garden scissors claim a few stems once a fortnight. The 
same treatment is good for the plant and the vases in the 
case of Helenium cupreum, my favourite of its family. 

241 Q 

My Garden in Summer 

It begins to bloom with the early Erigerons, and if 
robbed of some of its stems keeps on replacing them till 
late in Autumn, whilst it has many other good qualities 
besides. Thus it is of a wonderfully rich coppery red, 
unlike that of any other flower of that season, produces 
crowds of flowers that last long on the plant and also 
when cut, and is no more than three feet in height. I 
got my first plant from 'Chenault of Orleans many years 
ago, so good a tuft that on its arrival I made two plants 
of it, and goodness knows better than I do how many I 
have made of it since for my own garden or for distribution 
to friends. Its rich colouring contrasts admirably with 
the lilacs of Erigerons, the light yellows of Anthemis, and 
the Heleniums and Helianthuses, and blends well with 
orange shades. It is somewhat similar to the brown red 
forms of Coreopsis Drummondii, of which I always like to 
have a good row somewhere in kitchen garden ground for 
cutting freely, for the flat flowers are so large and butter- 
fly-like in poise on the thin stepis. But Coreopsis is a 
fussy thing to cut and arrange, owing to the thin stems 
and the many one wants and the tangles they get into, 
for unless you mow down a whole tuft at a time the 
flower-heads are sure to get interlocked, and almost in- 
variably it is the one belonging to the cut stem that comes 
off when you pull. Now Helenium cupreum makes no 
bother of this sort, and three or four of its jolly stout 
stems provide a mass of flowers for a good-sized vase. 

Chrysanthemum maximum is not very successful as a 
cut flower ; first it is hard to get long stems when the 
first flowers open without cutting many buds and making 


V Hi 

forcnp.i^ liruinimuidil, ;l frc-fl.MvrrinL; iiiimi.d. 

(See p. 2a2.~) 


sad gaps, then they flag and faint too often to be reliable, 
but in the border they are very fine. I have grouped most 
of the varieties I grow at one end of the large herbaceous 
bed, where, looking across the lawn by the house and 
under the Deodar, one sees them in a mass with the 
meadows, the turn of the river, and the distant woods for 
their background, and with the late afternoon sun catch- 
ing them they are a great joy to me. My favourite of all 
the forms is vomerense, which came from Herr Sprenger 
of Naples, and gets its name from his garden at Vomero. 
Mr. Gumbleton first drew my attention to its charms in 
his garden at Belgrove, and sent me a division from his 
plant the following Spring. It is a tall, long-stemmed 
variety, not so large as to become coarse, and the ray 
florets have a charming curve, a rise and fall that does 
away with the stiffness I dislike in some other kinds. 
Princess Henry came to me from Belgrove too, but 
though it makes a good solid mass of white from a little 
distance, when looked into the flowers are rather too 
round and flat to compare favourably with perfect vomer- 
ense, and I rather dislike its stems, which are on the fat, 
lumpy side, reminding one of thick ankles, and are hairy 
and a boiled cabbage green ; so it should be planted a 
little way in from the edge, and not examined too closely. 
The Speaker is fine for the front row, but almost too 
large to be perfect, though hard to beat for distant 
effect. Next I rank Edward VII and a variety of it 
called Edward VII Improved, which I always feel sounds 
rather disrespectful to a great memory, though not so 
bad as a description I heard of a diseased potato which 


My Garden in Summer 

ran, " Edward VII badly warted, and the skin showing 
pink between the black warts." I must digress further to 
have a grumble at the awful results that sometimes follow 
on the bestowal of a person's name on a plant. One would 
think it was harmless enough to allow a new Carnation 
to be named for one as Americans say, but I found in a 
Carnation list some years ago descriptions something like 
these : " Miss Evangeline Tomkins, very free, pale flesh 
with large crimson spots ; Mrs. Rory O'More, deep red 
inclining to purple, of full habit, but warranted not to 
burst " ; and I have lately seen with a shock that as a 
Delphinium I am " over six feet high, but have a large, 
black eye which is very telling. Stock limited." If the latter 
refers to Bank Stock I am sorry to say it is but too true, and 
applies more correctly than the rest of the description. 

But to return to the Chrysanthemums. Edward VII 
Improved is a fine bold grower, and thus carries off what 
might become coarseness if the flowers grew on a small 
plant. I find if one has been lazy or busy in Autumn, 
and these big Daisies go undivided, it is a good plan to 
pull out many of the stems as they begin to push in 
Spring, and then vigorous plants with large flowers will 
follow. I also do this with Phloxes and Asters, and it 
works well for several years, but of course will not alto- 
gether replace lifting, dividing, and replanting in fresh 
soil. One hardly cares to think of Asters in July, but 
one of the best of all begins to flower then — I mean 
Aster Thompsofiii, and the form of it which Perry now 
lists as Winchmore Hill variety, which is very much better 
in colour and shape than a worse form one sees only 



too often. I have always grown the better one here, 
for it was given me by a good friend who I think also 
gave it to Mr. Perry. It is one of the best lilac-coloured 
flowers the garden produces, for though it begins flowering 
in July, it has not finished when Michaelmas brings in 
the great rush of Asters ; it is rather slow of increase, and 
a clump takes several years to grow large enough to allow 
of division, so that it is better to take cuttings in Spring. 
A. indsifoHus bears large, white flowers in July, but they 
have a short period of beauty, and soon turn brown, still 
it is good-looking enough for an honourable position. The 
so-called Aster Mesa grande is now an Erigeron speciosus form, 
but still just as good, and one of the deepest in colour 
of them all, but the flowers are smaller and not so 
numerous as in grandiflorus and multiradiatus, which are 
two very useful species much like E. speciosus. The second 
if cut back after its flowering will give a fine second 
crop that will last until frost comes, and is a good rich 
violet ; A. grandiflorus is paler, but has very round, large 
flowers and a sturdy habit that needs no tying up. 
Buphthalmum salicifolium is a neat plant, with narrow 
leaves and a round, bushy habit, so that when covered 
with its rich yellow flowers it is worth a place in the 
mixed border or even in rougher parts of the rock garden. 
I have seen it looking very handsome on the grassy 
slopes of sub-alpine regions. Telekia spedosissima is quite its 
opposite, though sometimes called Buphthalmum cordatum, 
having immense heart-shaped leaves and large flowers 
five inches across of a handsome orange ; it is a very fine 
thing to grow as an isolated group in turf as I have seen 


My Garden in Summer 

it in the Botanic Garden in the Park at Bath. But here 
it is rather squashed up in the herbaceous bed for lack 
of space in lawns, and archangels to do the mowing, for 
short of securing the kindly services of such beings 1 
should never induce an ordinary mortal to lift up the 
leaves gently while the lawn-mower bit off grass, and 
grass only, and took no lumps or mouthfuls out of the 
Telekia foliage. Inula Heknium, the Elecampane or Cure- 
all of country folk, is another fine stately subject for a hole 
in the grass, and as its leaves are held up pretty stifHy 
I have started a group of it in the turf by the head of 
the steps that lead down to the pond, but keep a reserve 
clump in the middle of the herbaceous bed, where its 
immense grey-green leaves and eight feet stems can 
tower up among promising young Asters. 

These bring us along to August, and by then another 
of the great yellow Composites is commencing to flower — 
Senedo Clivorum, one of the Giant Groundsels from China, 
so handsome and so gigantic one can scarcely connect it 
with our Groundsel. It is a very fine plant for a moist 
place, or failing that the north side of a wall or line of 
shrubs, where the sun will not scorch it, and cause it to 
faint. Its great, leathery, heart-shaped leaves are very 
handsome, and a fine specimen crowned with the large 
orange-coloured blossoms is a goodly sight from August 
to October. It is best to cut off the seed-heads, for they 
sow their seeds almost as lavishly as does the common 
Groundsel. More of the Heleniums begin to show up 
in August, and H. pumilum magnificum is as good as any 
of the pure yellow ones. H. Bolanderi, with rich brown 



discs, is an attractive fellow too, both being dwarf forms, 
two feet high, but H. autumnale of a rich yellow, and 
Riverton Gem, a form of H. grandkephalunt, almost as 
rich in colour as H. cupreum, are giants, five feet or 
more high, but these seem to belong to a later period, 
as they flower on, and join with the hosts of Heli- 
anthus and Heliopsis, which with the Michaelmas Daisies 
form the battalions of Autumn. So at present they are on 
the reserve in case I am bold enough to carry on the battle 
with confused synonyms in an autumn campaign. We 
will leave the herbaceous beds, and go to the rock garden 
for Daisies. Here we find Felicia abyssinica, a fairy Daisy, 
with finely-cut foliage, that forms cushions of greenery like 
some extra good Mossy Saxifrage, and bears for months 
together soft, lilac-blue flowers in great profusion, but 
not hardy, so that a pot full of cuttings must go into a 
house every Autumn, to replace their deceased parents 
next Spring. It roots as it spreads, so there is no diffi- 
culty in propagating it, as one can always find Irishman's 
cuttings, that is newly rooted portions, round the old 
plants. Of course, if you are taking off a few to give to 
a visitor from the Emerald Isle, you must be careful to 
speak of Dutchman's cuttings instead, or take the risk 
of adding one more insult to the distressful country. 
Erigeron mucronatus, alias Vittadenia trilobata, alias the 
New Holland Daisy although it comes from Mexico, 
has long possessed one rocky knoll and runs riot 
there, making a tangle of wiry stems and a curtain of 
starry blossoms from June to December. Many people 
complain that it dies out with them, but here if it 


My Garden in Summer 

gets a well-drained, sunny position and the old stems 
are left on until the worst frosts are over, I generally 
find it necessary to root out some in Spring to pre- 
vent it smothering its neighbours. It seeds about 
rather too freely, and I fancy some would-be growers 
may not recognise its juvenile offspring, for they form 
neat rosettes of trifid or even pectinated leaves for 
their- first season, and not until flowering shoots are 
produced do they look at all like their parents. Its 
flowers are of so many shades, from white to crimson 
according to their age, that a flowering mass is always 
pretty. It ought to be a good plant for old walls, for 
seedlings appear in infinitesimal crevices, and are rather 
more attractive in the dwarf, starved form produced by 
their straitened circumstances than the wilder growing, 
well-fed plants. 

Some Composites that are not Daisies deserve a word 
of praise, so they shall have it here, although they do not 
fit the heading of this chapter. First there are the Cen- 
taureas of Summer, mostly stately giants with handsome 
leaves and yellow flowers. C, macrocephala, well grown 
and well placed, is worth having, with its bright-green 
leaves and large, thistle-shaped flowers, but a few more 
inches of stem would improve it, and prevent its looking 
a trifle clumsy and heavy-headed. C. babylonica has grey 
leaves that alone pay rent for its site, and there can be no 
complaint about its shortness of stature, for it will reach 
six feet in good soil, and the winged stems and small 
yellow flowers, stuck on at queer angles all up them, are 
very showy at flowering time and effective all through 



the Winter, so long as the wind does not break them, 
which rarely happens, as they are wondrously tough. 
C. ruthenica, the most graceful of the tall yellow ones, is 
of a pleasant pale shade, and the leaves are beautifully 
cut and a rich green ; the plant is very suitable for a 
choice spot in the middle distance of the border, and as 
it dies down altogether in Winter, and resurrects itself 
rather late, will fit in well just behind a clump of Daffo- 
dils. I have several times come across white specimens 
of Centaurea Scabiosa among the many evil-coloured, normal 
members of its household. And what is absolutely 
" hijjous," as children say, in a Knapweed whose crimson 
errs on the magenta side, can become a refined and 
beautiful plant when white, and I have brought some of 
my wild finds home to the garden, where they make 
strong clumps and bear a great number of flowers. One 
specimen in the rock garden is about a yard through when 
in full flower. 

The Globe Thistles have mostly found a welcome 
here, but some few have overstepped the bounds of polite 
visitors, made themselves too much at home, seeded by 
thousands, and so are on the weed list. One that came as 
Echinops persicus heads that black list, for in spite of good, 
thistly foliage, its round heads are a very poor, starchy- 
grey blue. E. horridus is allowed to place out a half- 
dozen of its biennial babes, for it towers up some eight 
to ten feet, and makes a show in the world among shrubs 
in places where a little life and excitem,ent is to be de- 
sired. E. Ritro is the gem of the family — compact, a 
true perennial, very good tempered, and beautifully blue 


My Garden in Summer 

even before the florets of the head expand, and brighter 
still when fully open. They are a great joy to Bumble- 
bees by day and moths by night, though all the members 
of the family are that ; and I have often recommended 
them for entomologists' gardens, where plants are wished 
for that can be visited after dark with a lantern, to sur- 
prise a supper-party of noctuid moths. I enjoy teasing 
a drunken (or is it over-eaten ?) old Bumble-bee. I rather 
incline to the latter view, in spite of the similarity of its 
behaviour to that of an intoxicated old man. The Bee 
will just wave a leg at you if you touch him, and seems 
to say : " Jolly goo' nectar, jolly fine evenin', shan't g'ome, 
stopsh here or ni'. Look out, don't tickle me, if I laugh 
sure fall off ! " And that is just what does happen if you 
continue to prod h\m ; up go all the legs on one side, a 
ghost of a buzz stirs his wings, and flop he goes to the 

E. Toumefortei is a fine foliage plant, for the leaves 
are larger and more handsomely divided than in the 
others, and also wear large white thorns on all their 
points. It is a most curious-looking object when the 
young flowering stem is pushing up, as all the cauline 
leaves have long silky hairs that are caught together, and 
as the leaves unfold they pull out these threads, till a 
large ball of cobweb is formed similar to that of Semper- 
vivum arachnoideum, but on a much larger scale. It looks 
as though the caterpillars of some gregarious, nest- 
spinning moth had taken possession of it, but it is entirely 
its own invention and manufacture. It is a rare plant in 
English gardens ; mine came to me — well, I need hardly 



tell you, for I expect you can guess — from Bitton. 
Canon EUacombe got the seed many years ago from 
Paris, and without a name ; but on writing to the Jardin 
des Plantes about it rather lately, he not only learnt its 
right name, but found that the plant had been lost there. 
So it was not long before the Canon and his wondrous 
garden supplied the missing treasure. 



Bedding Out 

It is fashionable nowadays to affect a horror of bedding 
plants. People say they must allow a few to please the 
gardener, just as they say they eat entries and savouries 
to please the cook. The simple life is becoming an 
affectation in dinners and gardens ; the table-cloth goes, 
but hard labour in polishing tables falls on the footmen, 
and even if you dine on a Tudor oak table you have a lace 
mat, and under that another fandangle, some bad con- 
ductor of heat for your plate to sit on. Simple? It 
reminds me of a silly old song that lilted of someone 
being as "simple as Dahlias on Paddington Green." 

So we despise Scarlet Geraniums as we miscall our 
Zonal Pelargoniums, make a face at Calceolarias, and 
shudder at the mention of Blue Lobelia. Well, they have 
been sadly misused, I know, but they are fine plants, for all 
that, when in their right places. I remember a garden of 
twenty years ago that was the most bedded out I ever saw. 
Thousands of bedding plants were prepared for planting 
out in Summer, but always in straight lines in long, straight 
borders. It all began at the stable gates, and ran round 
three sides of the house, and continued in unbroken 
sequence, like Macbeth's vision of kings, for two sides of 


Bedding Out 

a croquet lawn, and then rushed up one side and down 
the other of a long path starting at right angles from the 
middle of the lawn, and if you began at the gates with 
Blue Lobelia, Mrs. Pollock Pelargonium, Perilla, Yellow 
Calceolaria, and some Scarlet Pelargonium in ranks 
according to their relative stature, so you continued for 
yards, poles, perches, furlongs, or whatever it was — I hate 
measures, and purposely forget them — and so you ended 
up when the border brought you back again to the lawn. 
I once suggested. Why not paint the ground in stripes, and 
have the effect all the year round, even if snow had to be 
swept off sometimes ? I know an instance of a stately, 
formal garden which was found so expensive to fill with 
gay flowers that its owner had coloured tiles made to lay 
in the beds. Well, I do not champion that sort of thing, 
but I confess to adoring Scarlet Pelargoniums, rejoicing in 
Blue Lobelia, and revelling in Yellow Calceolaria. But 
they must be certain varieties, well grown and well placed. 
An aged Pelargonium, King of Denmark, with a tree-like 
trunk, numerous branches, and in a pot three sizes too 
small for it, can be a glorious cloud of warm salmon 
blossoms ; and Paul Crampel is worth similar ill-treatment. 
Of course fat sappy cuttings stuck out in rich soil, and 
that grow leaves fit for cooking and serving with white 
sauce, are not what we want. I love to seize a few pot- 
plants in the conservatory or greenhouse, and to take 
them out for a Summer airing in the garden, sinking their 
pots among other plants, where they fit in and look as if 
they had been there all their lives. There is a raised bed 
near the house bordering the carriage drive that is getting 


My Garden in Summer 

filled up by degrees with permanent tenants, but among 
them at present are still a few lodgings to let, and here all 
sorts of tender plants pass their Summer, Yuccas form 
a large group at a corner, and next to them some grey- 
leaved things have gathered together. Melianthus major 
gets cut to the ground annually there, and retires under a 
heap of cinders we pile on it in November, but hitherto it 
has reappeared with Spring. Senecio Greyi, S. compactus, 
and Othonnopis cheirifolia, the Barbary Ragwort, sprawl 
down the bank. Cineraria maritima and Centaurea Clementei 
join their silvery forces to the others, and so work along 
till we reach a group of glaucous Kniphofias such as 
K, caulescens and K. Tysonii. When Summer approaches it 
is very good fun to go into the houses and pick out 
certain things, to add to this mass of subtropical-looking 
foliage after they have had a week or so of hardening off. 
Purple-leaved Cannas are simply irresistible to group 
behind the Yuccas and the great ferny grey-leaves of 
Melianthus major. Acacia Baileyana, as blue as a freshly 
killed mackerel, can be slipped in among the Kniphofias 
and will tower above them. Blue Lobelia looks very 
lovely as a carpet spread among the feet of some of these, 
and a group of Salvia patens, that also has a poultice of 
ashes for Winter, is thereby kept in countenance and helps 
to make a patch of blue. Further along the bed we find 
a good place for sinking some large pots of Moraea iridioides, 
M. bicolor and M. Huttonii, as a low Yew hedge makes a good 
background for the yellow and black flowers of bicolor, and 
the white ones with mauve and orange trimmings of jW- 
dioides. This is a very curious Irid, and the only one I 


Bedding Out 

know of in which the flowering stem lives on for several 
years, branching out at intervals into green spathes and 
buds and flowers. Once an extra-industrious garden boy 
of a tidying-up disposition cut off all the old brown ugly 
stems at housing time, and of course for the next two years 
we had only a few flowers that the stems of the year could 
provide for us. The variety I have is the larger one 
sometimes known as Dietes Macleai, whose flowers are as 
large as those of Iris unguicularis, and much like them in 
general appearance and shape, pure glistening white with 
rich yellow keel to the falls, and lilac style branches. Each 
flower lasts about twenty-four hours only, but they are 
freely produced if unattacked by garden boys. 

In some seasons tall lanky Abutilons, and Streptosolen 
Jamesonii, come out here to be grouped among such perma- 
nent plants as species and forms of Agapanthus, Coton- 
easters, and dwarf Berberis. Some are saved, lifted, and 
housed at Winter s first warning show of frost, but the 
lanky fellows that have done their best work in pots are 
left to take their chance, and after some mild winters old 
Abutilon stems have broken out into good growth. 

. But it is on the terrace when the Tulips have retired 
that we do our greatest deeds of bedding. I have already 
told how four out of the fifteen beds are filled with my 
beloved succulent plants in mixed groups. Most of the 
other beds we prefer filled with one kind of plant, so as to 
get a good mass of colour. Two of the beds are so placed 
that they are in a direct line with two of the straight paths 
that run from the bowling-green lawn down to the bank 
of the New River. Most of the paths in this garden were 


My Garden in Summer 

made at the period when it was considered sinful to walk in 
a direct line from any one point to another, so they are 
curved and twisted as though designed by drunken worms ; 
and unless one rearranged them as an elaborate variation 
of the Greek Key Pattern it does not seem possible to 
alter them. However, I am truly grateful for two of these 
paths which I found ran fairly straight from lawn to river, 
and another which I made to do so, by giving it two new 
ends and taking a crick out of its neck. 

We have tried many things in the beds that show at 
the ends of these paths, but nothing is so satisfying to the 
eye as Salvia splendens Pride of Zurich, which goes out in 
June as nice bushy little plants with fiery scarlet heads, 
and flares away in ever-increasing, red-hot refulgence 
until a sharp October frost throws a pailful of cold water 
on its glowing cinders and puts out their glory. It is a 
magnificent bit of colour, and except when a heavy storm 
drenches it and knocks off many flowers and bruises the 
persistent scarlet calices, it seems to improve daily through- 
out the Summer. Heliotrope I must have for my nose's 
sake, so two beds are filled with it, one with a light- 
coloured and the other with a dark form, low spreading 
plants covering the soil and a few old standard specimens 
rising up among them ; and I don't know which enjoys 
them most, I or the White Butterflies. The two central 
beds on either side of my favourite of the stone vases, the 
Greek tripodal altar, are sacred to Pelargonium Paul 
Crampel, and in hot weather they rival the Salvias. We 
have tried many things in these terrace beds with varying 
success, and some of them are, I hope, gone for ever, 


Bedding Out 

others we feel cannot be improved upon, and a few are 
still on trial. Pentstemons are among this last class, and 
I think a bed of a very fine deep scarlet one with large 
white throat, but still a weJl-shaped flower, will long 
continue to fill a bed, as it is just my idea of what a 
good Pentstemon should be, for I do not love the modern 
type of gaping, wide-mouthed monstrosities, with extra 
segments and an attack of tonsilitis, diphtheria, or some 
other disease that produces spots in the throat. 

I was one of the first that received seeds of Felicia 
petiolaris from its generous introducer on the Continent, 
and I thought I should be right in devoting one of the 
terrace beds to this rosy-pink counterpart of Agathaea 
coelestis. It grew right enough, and soon filled its bed 
with long trailing growths, then it broke the bounds and 
trailed along the gravel path, and was nipped first by the 
gulls and then by me. It mounded itself up like a haycock, 
but never a bud did it show until October, when three 
flowers rather like lawn Daisies on long stalks decorated 
the whole bed of greenery. We decided it was not suit- 
able for bedding out in that manner. I had given away 
many youngsters of this newest treasure, and before long 
reproachful letters poured in, and I feared it needed a 
southern sky to make a good plant of it. Some plants I 
put out in the rock garden surprised us by keeping green 
and happy all through the Winter, and then we found 
out that in a roughish place on a dry sunny bank, Felicia 
petiolaris can be very pretty if allowed to root down and 
run about and make a tangle in one season and flower 
there in the next. 

257 R 

My Garden in Summer 

This year we filled a bed with the double white 
Chrysanthemum frutescens, Mrs. Sapder ; it was a fine 
snowy mound and provided a wondrous number of cut 
flowers, which I was rejoiced to find last more than a 
week, if cut in youth of course, and very pretty in 
wide-mouthed cut glass vases if you pick plenty so that 
they may hang out all round and be mounded up in 
the centre. 

Fuchsias make an effective bed, but we somehow had 
all crimson and blue and none of my favourite white and 
pink, or crimson and white among them this season. The 
last beds at either end are large, and can be planted 
with miscellanies. In one the central object is always my 
large old specimen Pepper Tree, Schinus Molle, and this year 
it looks very well rising out of what sounds a trifle 
risky, a mixture of Salvia patens, pink and white Pent- 
stemons, and Ageratium mexicanum, the old fluffy mauve 
fellow that smells so abominably of a dirty, soapy sponge. 
But the blue and mauve mixed with the Pentstemons was 
really very beautiful, and had a delightfully cool effect 
separated by the succulents from the glowing red Salvia. 
The other end had as a central specimen a fine old Spar- 
mannia africana that summers out and gets strong and 
sturdy thereby ; purple-leaved Cannas all round it made 
a fine dark mass against the Yew hedge background, and 
Henry Jacoby Pelargonium filled in the groundwork. 
These gay beds have a good effect here along the curve 
of the river, and particularly when reflected in it, and 
there would be no other way of treating the terrace beds 
among the stone vases that would be as satisfactory as the 


Bedding Out 

alternation of Tulips in Spring and the bedding plants 
for Summer and Autumn. 

Certain tender plants are grown on purpose to live 
for the Summer months in the rock garden, and though 
they are dotted about here and there still this is a form of 
summer bedding. The sweetest scented leaf I know is borne 
by one of them, Cedronella triphylla. Its flowers are not worth 
having and are better picked off, for they are small and 
dead-nettlish, and I have seen them described as pale 
purple, a colour one does not long for ; but the fresh 
green leaves are delicious to pick and sniff if they are only 
lightly bruised so that they do not give out too strong a 
turpentine scent. They act best if put into a button-hole, 
where as they fade they give out whiffs of a delightfully 
clean scent — I think it might be called a dry scent, to 
distinguish it from the hateful, cloying, nose- worrying, 
syrupy, sweet abominations that get into scent-bottles 
and soaps and annoy me nearly as much as does the 
odour of stinking fish or sewer gas. Cedronella triphylla is 
widely known as Balm of Gilead in spite of its coming 
from the Canary Isles, and after a mild Winter it will break 
up again from the root ; but it is never safe to rely on its 
doing so, therefore cuttings should be taken in Autumn 
and housed for the Winter. 

Matthiola tristis, the old Night-scented Stock of One's 
great>grandmother, is another half-hardy indispensable, 
for I think its scent the sweetest of all those produced by 
the dingily coloured plants that wake up towards evening 
and advertise for moths to undertake their pollen dispersal 
in return for a supper of nectar, and so distil the most 


My Garden in Summer 

wonderfully alluring scents to attract them. This little 
perennial bushy Stock is not much to look at with its 
narrow grey leaves and spikes of small lilac and brown 
flowers ; but it beats all the rest of the family in its 
scent, which has more of Cassia-buds and Russia leather 
about it than the Cloves or PViar's Balsam I detect even 
in Matthiola bicomis, good as its evening offering of incense 
can be on a still summer night. I lost my M. tristis one 
Winter ; cuttings refused to strike, and moulded ofif in a 
way they have if not put in while the sun is still 
powerful and the air fairly dry, and very few winters spare 
the old plants outside, and that was not one of them. I 
tried hard to replace it, but could hear of it nowhere 
among the nurserymen. Then in Ireland, in a friend's 
garden, I pryed into the inmost corners of a small green- 
house in spite of being told, "Oh, there's nothing but 
rubbish in that old house," for many a time I have dis- 
covered hidden treasure in such half-deserted corners, 
and this time I saw three pots of fine old specimens of 
Matthiola tristis, a relic of my friend's grandmother and 
grown there ever since her day ; so cuttings from them 
have restored this sweetest of scents to my garden. 

Oxypetalum coeruleum is an old plant but not often seen ; 
yet the blue of its flowers is as soft and pure as that of 
any flower of Summer, and it is as easy to grow as a 
Scarlet Pelargonium, and can be propagated by cuttings 
or from seeds. It should be pushed along a bit in a 
warm house in early Spring, hardened off in May, and 
then planted out to produce bunches of turquoise blue 
flowers till it is time to lift it back to shelter. I have left 


Bedding Out 

plants out, but though they have Uved through the Winter 
it took them so long to find out they were alive and to 
pluck up enough spirit to make fresh growth that they 
had not got to flowering strength before another attack of 
frostbites put them on the sick list again. It is sometimes 
called Tweedia coerula and came from Buenos Ayres, a 
name I always pronounced Bonyzares in the days of my 
youth until I was set right by some friends who had lived 
there, so now I call it Bwaynos Ires, and am so proud of 
my knowledge that I cannot resist showing it off phoneti- 
cally here. 

Lavatera maritima grandiflora makes a fine spring-flower- 
ing greenhouse bush, and then if hardened gradually and 
planted out will bloom till the frost comes, producing 
large Mallow flowers of a queer shade of greyish lilac with 
warmer rosy tints, very much like the colour of a bottle 
of lead lotion I used lately for an attack of Nettlerash, 
for it had been made attractive by the addition of a 
touch of Cochineal. But the Mallow flowers' real glory 
consists in a very conspicuous purple-blue eye that 
gives them a distinct appearance among the soft downy 
green leaves. It will grow into a fine bush on a wall in 
Southern Ireland, but I have never got it through a Winter 
in the open ground here. We generally group near the 
larger Mallow some little bushes of a smaller-flowered rosy 
red one that Dr. Lowe gave me as Malvastrum grossulariae- 
folium, a name there is some doubt about its rightly 
possessing, although it very well describes the foliage. 
This plant is also tender and flowers itself nearly to death, 
for it is so lavish with bloom first in the conservatory in 


My Garden in Summer 

Spring and then out in the border, if it is kept clean and 
free from an aphis that loves to swarm all over it and to 
make it as sticky as treacle. 

Plumbago capensis is delightful as a bedded-out specimen, 
and Humea elegans makes a good companion for it. When 
it does well its six-feet-high clouds of brownish-red flowers 
light up well in the sunlight, looking like spikes of some 
huge flowering grass instead of a plant of the Composite 
family. But the peculiar incense-like scent its leaves and 
flowers give out when touched at all times, and on the 
breeze in hot weather, is the chief charm of the plant ; it 
is something like the scent of Russia leather at times when 
a faint whiff reaches one, but at closer quarters is more 
like incense. The flowers keep their colour well when 
cut and dried, and will give out the scent for a long time, 
especially if slightly moistened now and then. For the 
last two years I have planted out pots of Primula mala- 
coides after they have become lanky and full of seed- 
pods in the houses, and some take a new lease and throw 
up fresh flower-stems, while others shed seeds which soon 
germinate and join the others in flowering, and I believe, 
if slugs would but leave them alone, they would battle 
through a fairly mild Winter,* for they have refused to be 
put seriously out of temper by eighteen degrees of frost. 

Thus I find a place in the summer garden for many a 
plant that is either the better for a Summer in the open 
or has served its day inside, and so may as well be tried 
outside as thrown on the rubbish heap. 

^ A group of some dozen plants survived the Winter of 1913-14 and flowered 
freely in April. 



Flowers for Cutting 

I SOMETIMES feel that cutting flowers to decorate one's 
rooms is a practice unworthy of the true lover of a 
garden, for I am convinced that most flowers look best 
when growing on the plant. Yet I could not be happy 
for long without cut flowers in the house, for there are 
so many dark hours and cold days when one can best 
enjoy their beauty indoors, and it gives me such pleasure 
to group and arrange them in vases for effects that are 
never produced by the plants themselves. 

As I write I am enjoying the scent of a vase of Irises, 
and look up now and then to revel in the delicacy of 
their mingled shades of lilac, mauve, green, yellow, and 
creamy white, and on this stormy day, with a rough 
bullying wind that flings raindrops about like bullets, 
they would not long remain so fresh and unspotted 
out in the open. Artificial light brings out fresh and 
unsuspected charms in some flowers, even converting 
ferocious militant magentas into a saintly beneficent rose 
colour at times, and again with other flowers. Sweet Peas 
and Centaurea montana for instance, the more you cut the 
more you get. Shirley Poppies I have already praised 
for a similar good trait of character. 


My Garden in Summer 

The scent of fresh flowers in rooms is one of the joys 
of life if sufficiently understood and controlled. I have 
been poisoned olfactorily, which means headache and 
a fearful longing for a whifT of the clean outdoor smell 
of greenery, by rooms with too many Lilium auratum or 
Azalea mollis in them ; and I do not think I could be 
polite and good-tempered for long in a room with many 
bunches of Phloxes in it. A dinner-table decorated 
heavily with Sweet Peas spoils my dinner, as I taste 
Sweet Peas with every course, and they are horrible as 
a sauce for fish, whilst they ruin the bouquet of good 
wine. I once cut a quantity of Almond blossom for a 
centre-piece, and six smaller vases for the dinner-table, 
and quite smothered out the charms of a good dinner 
with its aroma. Violets, Mignonette, Wallflower, Roses, 
Hyacinths, Stocks, and many other flowers lose their 
sweet scent after about twenty-four hours in a room, 
and need carefully testing day by day as well for fresh- 
ness of odour as for colour effect, and yet, again, some 
flowers are never agreeable to my fussy old nose. Phloxes 
smell to me like a combination of pepper and pig-stye, 
most Brooms of dirty, soapy, bath sponge. Hawthorn of 
fish-shop, and Meadow Sweet of curry powder, so I much 
dislike being shut up in a house with them ; while Phila- 
delphus coronarius, Elder, and Spiraea Aruncus simply drive 
me out, for they generally produce a violent attack of 
hay fever. But these are evils that are, for the most 
part, personal, many of them being peculiar to me 
and my fads and failings, but 1 believe there is a 
wider evil lurking in the apparently harmless practice 


Flowers for Cutting 

of growing flowers chiefly for cutting. I mean that 
it tends towards regarding flowers merely as decorations, 
and plants are chosen because they will produce so many 
masses of colour of some particular shade, much as one 
would buy silks by the yard, and it seems to me a waste 
of energy, pelf, and intellectual powers to grow plants 
merely to fill a dozen large bowls with soft mauve or 
pale pink to place in the drawing-room because they go well 
with the curtains or wall-paper. The faculty for appre- 
ciating the habit and individuality of a plant is destroyed 
as one learns only to care for its decapitated heads in 
baskets, as some ancient tyrant might gloat over those 
of his enemies. I prefer to see pot plants in the house, 
and especially those that are flowering in their natural 
season, as that brings into use and notice many plants 
that can only be grown in pots and under glass, for I 
would far rather use my houses for growing tender plants 
that will not live in the open than for forcing plants 
that will be much better in form and colour when they 
appear a little later in the open ground. 

I have ceased to care for forced Lily of the Valley 
now that, thanks to cold storage, it is so much like the 
poor, in being wan and pale and ever with us. When 
in May one can pick the real thing from the garden, I 
love its sweet scent and rich, deep green leaves as much 
as I dislike the anaemic, invalid creatures with sickly-yellow, 
parboiled leaves that have been first frozen and then forced ; 
indeed, I feel disposed to found a Society for the Preven- 
tion of Cruelty to Plants; Even the Winter Flowering 
Carnations that the last few years have brought to such 


My Garden in Summer 

perfection leave me as cold and indifferent as do the silk 
and velvet counterfeit blossoms, for wearing in hats, that 
I see in the shop windows. I do not want Carnations 
all the year round, nor do I admire half a yard of stem 
with scars at intervals where buds have been picked off in 
the fair promise of their youth, so that the one terminal 
flower may be as round and fringy and perfect as if it 
were made of pinked-out paper like a ham frill. But I 
do love Carnations in July, real ones, border varieties, 
and as I cannot grow them into yard-square clumps as 
people in softer climates can, I have to be content with 
layering them every season, and having some good long 
rows in the kitchen gatden borders to cut from. Unless 
they can be grown on the top of a wall or in vases, so 
that the flowers may hang down in their natural way, I do 
not greatly care for the effect of them in the borders where 
they require staking. Those one sees growing in old biscuit 
tins, the remnants of a broken china jug or a wooden 
box, in Italian or Tyrolean window-sills and balconies, 
seem to me to be the most perfectly beautiful. I have 
seen them with stems thicker than my thumb (which is a 
sturdy and large one as thumbs go), and certainly no less 
than four years old, hanging down for quite a yard, and 
a mass of bloom above steely blue leaves, the picture of 
health, and I have longed to have a few like them. But 
alas ! they do not grow old gracefully here, so I grow year- 
lings, and cut their long stems, buds and all. Trojan we 
think the best white for our purpose, as it produces such 
a harvest of large flowers on splendidly stiff, tall stems. 
Raby Castle, although it is poor in shape and often bursts 


iiorder Carnation, "■ Keiiown. 
(See V. 267.) 

Flowers for Cutting 

its calyx, is such a delightfully soft, pure pink that I have 
never found any among the dozens I have tried that gives 
me such pleasure and such large basketfuls. Duchess of 
Wellington, a pinkish mauve, is also stout-stemmed and 
lavish in flowers, and goes wonderfully well with the 
white Trojans and pink Rabys, either all mixed in one 
vase, or each in a separate one, and stood together on a 
flower table. The pink of Raby Castle is charming, to6, 
with the old red Cloves, but they are rather tiresome, as they 
require looking over daily and renewing so often, for aged 
blooms turn such a bad colour and curl up so miserably. 
I have not yet found a pure yellow that is quite 
suitable to this garden and my requirements. Yellow 
Queen succeeds best, but it has rather thin stalks and a 
dangling habit. Miss Audrey Campbell does not grow 
here very freely, and the beautiful yellows of recent days 
are not hardy enough for us, needing protection and not 
getting it. Elizabeth Shiilner has disappointed me greatly, 
as she only wears a pale and sallow face here, instead of 
the fine orange buff one that beams at me from the show 
stands. Mrs. Reynolds" Hole we still grow, and in some 
seasons it does well and produces a fine supply of its deep 
apricot-coloured flowers for three weeks at a stretch, but in 
other seasons it is shy and peevish. Marigold is another 
useful variety that is orange and red in colouring, and 
reminds me of orange marmalade. Mrs. Cutbush and 
Renown give us a liberal supply of scarlet flowers. Ellen 
Willmott, though a better colour, requires disbudding and 
fussing over beyond our practice, but no doubt would be 
useful in gardens better suited for Carnation growing. 


Mj Garden in Summer 

I grow the wild species in the rock garden, the 
Dianthus Caryophyllus from which the garden forms have 
been derived. Mr. Burbidge gave me the seed of my 
original plants, and told me he had brought it from the 
walls of Rochester Castle himself to Trinity College, 
Dublin. I have lately come across, and fallen desperately 
in love with, a dwarfer and better coloured race of single 
Carnations, called Grenadine, which are most suitable 
and lovely in the rock garden. Although I believe they 
originated in Southern France, they seem quite hardy. Of 
course these single-flowered forms are no good for cutting ; 
all the same, I am always pleased to find a few singles 
among the seedlings each season, for they are useful to 
pull up by the roots to use all their buds and leafy shoots 
for placing in vases with the flowers of the double ones 
whose leaves and buds are too precious to pick in such a 
wholesale fashion. I am sure it is best to give cut Carna- 
tions thqir own foliage, but a large vase of GypsophUa 
paniculata and Carnations is effective, and when Carnation 
foliage has been scarce I have used Lavender leaves instead, 
with successful results. 

I was pleasantly surprised this season by the lasting 
qualities when cut of the very fine Spiraea known as 
Sorbaria arborea, one of Wilson's Chinese introductions. 
It is a magnificent shrub in the garden, after the style of 
Spiraea Lindleyana or the newer S. Aitchisonii, with hand- 
some, pinnate leaves, and growing about ten feet high ; 
every shoot arches gracefully outwards, and bears at its 
tip a huge, flattened, pendant mass of pure white flowers ; 
some of the largest bunches produced here this Summer 


SpiixM arborea. (Sec p. 260.) 

Flowers for Cutting 

were over eighteen inches in length and a foot across, and 
as the plant produces theni over a period of several weeks 
it ought to become a popular and useful shrub. I never 
expected so large a mass of flowers borne on so slender a 
stem would last well in water, but most of them kept their 
full beauty for over a week, Buddleia variabilis is not so 
useful as a cut flower, for though it does not flag, yet the 
flowers that open indoors are not so richly coloured as 
those that develop under open-air treatment, and the spike 
fades into duller and weaker shades day by day. My idea 
of a really useful cut flower is one that will last for a week, 
so that once a week I may have a field day among the 
flower vases, and have them washed and filled with water 
for me to start afresh with on Saturday mornings. This 
works better in Spring and Autumn than in the hot 
summer months, when Sweet Peas, Mignonette, and Roses 
are only really good for two days. 

Chrysanthemum frutescens, " Mrs. Sander," as I have 
already said, is a welcome discovery as a seven-day stayer, 
and a beautiful large-flowered form of Myosotis palustris 
that Mr. Robinson gave me, will root and grow, and 
flower beautifully in a china bowl in a light window, and 
last in full beauty for about ten days. 

Of course there is a great deal in knowing when to 
cut your flowers, and I believe in bringing most of them 
into the house before they have attained their full size, 
and the pollen is shed. I would rather see a young flower, 
though rather small and pale, with a promise of fuller 
beauty in it than one I know has but a few more hours to last 
before curling at the edges if it is a Viola, turning trans- 


My Garden in Summer 

parent in the perianth if a Daffodil, or falling to bits after 
the manner of most other flowers. The gardener does 
not always realise this, but likes to bring his flower to 
the pitch of perfection before he can bear to pick it and 
part with it, and I can quite sympathise with him. It is 
doubtless the right moment to offer his treasure on the 
altar of sacrifice, but the only flower I know of that lasts 
best when cut in a fully matured condition is Anthurium 
Scherzerianum. I like to cut the flowers I am about to 
arrange myself, and even at times to take the vases out 
into the garden to make sure I get a sufficiency in one 
journey and of the right length of stem. I have learnt 
many little dodges and tricks for choosing those that 
will last the best, but which are difficult to impart in 
writing ; the most obvious is that in gathering Composite 
flowers one should choose those in which only a ring or 
two of the disc florets have opened. This is especially 
valuable advice for single Dahlias and Doronicums. In 
some Sweet Peas the buds if opened indoors come so 
much paler than their normal colour that they spoil the 
effect ; but in most self-coloured ones, which are to my 
idea the best of all, it only adds to the beauty of a large 
vaseful if some blooms are of a paler shade of the same 
colour. I have been inclined to grumble at the lack of 
really self mauves and lilacs in the newest and frilliest 
productions of the last few years, for I dislike bicolors, 
in which a cold and warm shade of lilac are blended in 
one blossom. Lady Grizel Hamilton is the shade I 
prefer, and Masterpiece also pleases me, but though I have 
tried to argue with myself, pointing out that as I like 


Flowers for Cutting 

to mix a bright pink with a self lilac in a large bowl, so I 
ought to rejoice in a bicolor or shaded flower, I am not 
convinced, and I suppose it is because the two shades are 
too much alike. Those that I have enjoyed most of all 
this Summer are Moonstone, a delicate cool lavender grey, 
and endowed with the sweetest scent of any Sweet Pea 
known to me, not so strong that it becomes a burden, 
but always there in the flower even to its last moment 
of final collapse, whenever you like to apply your nose 
to it ; Tortoiseshell, for an orange-salmon, because it is 
the only one I know of that is not burnt and pied in hot 
weather if left unshaded ; and Seashell, as delicate a shaded 
pink as its name suggests. I believe all three were raised 
by Mr. Aldersey ; I know he raised Tortoiseshell, and I 
was greatly struck by its incombustible resistance to the 
sun when I saw tall bushes of glowing blooms in front of 
the south wall at Aldersey fully exposed to the fierce 
sunlight of 1911. 

I like to place Mignonette in a cut glass bowl, it is so 
cool and fresh in its green and gold and a spangling of 
silver and a ruby here and there that brightens it at 
close quarters. It is a fitful thing to grow well, and here 
certainly does best in fresh ground. A newly made up 
vine border sown with Mignonette gives armfuls of joy, but 
is it good for the grapes ? I hope so, because I like both 
the grapes and the Mignonette, but even if it is not I should 
still wish to grow Mignonette there as the crop I prefer. 

Various patches of flowering plants in corners of the 
kitchen garden provide something to cut all the year 
round, so that 1 need not rob my flower beds. Iris 


My Garden in Summer 

unguicularis lines the foot of any bit of south wall I can com- 
mandeer for it, and with Hazel catkins from the nut walk 
and Winter Sweet from outside the span-roof vinery door 
supplies the darkest winter days. Garrya elliptka from the 
wall of the potting shed helps by the end of January, and 
spells of fair weather increase the supply of Irises until 
March brings the Daffodils among the Gooseberry and 
Currant bushes. The Tulips follow, and last until Centaurea 
montana, which edges one path, can fill a large basket twice 
or thrice a week. First Dutch and then Spanish and later 
still English Irises carry us on to the days of Mignonette, 
Shirley Poppies, Sweet Peas and Carnations. Later come 
Coreopsis, China Asters, Single Dahlias, early Chrysan- 
themums, and then the latest Michaelmas Daisies to com- 
plete the round, and each one seems to be the loveliest 
in its own season, wherefore I feel sure it is wiser to 
enjoy them when Nature gives them than to force hardy 
flowers to compete with the reigning beauty of the 
outdoor garden. 



As July Ends 

There comes a day in late July in each year when I 
realise that Campanula lacHflora, and C. persicifolia under its 
shelter, are no longer the beauties of the rock garden but 
a menace and danger, in that they are preparing to sow 
the whole place with their seeds. So I take off my coat 
and start to cut them down, and let in the light to other 
tall plants now anxious for a clear stage on which to dis- 
play their charms. It is rather fascinating work, as it so 
thoroughly and rapidly alters the general appearance of 
that piece of ground ; the waving masses of the Cam- 
panula, which have almost covered the level portions, 
soon melt away, and the little Almond bushes form the 
thicket once more. Then Phyteuma campanuloides can 
show its long spikes of small, purple flowers, and here 
and there the tall, rust-coloured spires of Digitalis ferruginea 
tower up above everything else, unless a Mullein has in- 
vaded this semi-wild corner. A fine form of Verbascum 
that came to me as V. pyramidalis sows itself freely about 
the rock garden, and at weeding times I leave a few well- 
placed ones, chiefly trying to keep a row of them either 
in the edge of the bed or actually in the path itself, and 
in some seasons this line of their great branching golden 

273 S 

My Garden in Summer 

candlesticks has a very fine effect, continuing that of the 
tall Eryngiums, that line the entrance to the rock garden 
out by the Cactus bank, a few of which are shown in 
the accompanying illustration. These are now so much 
hybridised and so variable that among the seedlings it is 
hard to find two just alike. A few remain true E. serra 
with its marvellous rosettes of saw-edged leaves, but others 
have the larger flower-heads of E. agavifoUum combined 
with the tall, branching stems of E. serra, and leaves with 
a great variety of coarse or small teeth according to which 
parent they favour most. Some are very handsome, and 
seem to me better than either parent. The fall of the tall 
Campanulas shows up the rounded bushes of Hypericum 
patulum, now covered with large, waxy blossoms of purest 
yellow, but not so wonderfully thick in texture nor so rich 
in a central boss of stamens as H. aureum, a fine old bush 
of which lives in a sheltered bay where Fuchsia bicohr is 
its companion, and is now a mass of crimson and blue 
flowers, each of its blue petticoats having a central patch 
or pocket of crimson which perhaps entitles it to its 
specific name. I find it the hardiest of the Fuchsias here, 
recovering itself quicker and so blooming earlier than F. 
Riccartonii and F. gracilis, but in most Winters it is cut to 
the ground. On the opposite side of the path F. putnila 
nestles in a nook between the stones, and is charming 
now, full of bloom, and only six inches high. F. retrofkxa 
has lived for many years in the next pocket, and is almost 
ready to open its first tiny crimson flowers. Even down 
this path a few Campanulas have found lodgment, and 
one is so large and such a good lilac in colour it must not 


Erynyium .sf'ir.i b)' tin: (Cactus l).'ink. (See p. 274.) 

As July Ends 

be cut away with the rest, but left awhile for seed. By 
the time they have all fallen the paths have become 
choked up and resemble a newly-mown meadow, and 
the cutting fever having got hold of me, I call for a 
gardener to bring a barrow and clear away as I hack 
and hew, and I thoroughly enjoy myself, for many of the 
shrubs need a good trimming. 

Magnolia stellata will block the path and smother the 
undergrowth unless a lower ring of boughs are sawn 
off, and Aegle sepiaria will poke out someone's eyes unless 
shortened, so one whole barrow-load this year was com- 
posed of Magnolia and Orange boughs, some of them so 
large that I should have been proud of them a few years 
ago if they had represented my largest specimen. A few 
days previously this season I filled a barrow with leaves 
from the hardy Palms, Trachydarpus excelsus, which looked 
even more cruel and sacrilegious a load to go to the 
rubbish heap. But I am rejoicing in the beautiful effect 
I have got in being able to see under them all, for with 
Magnolia, Orange, and Palms it adds to their apparent, 
and no doubt soon will to their actual, height, when the 
sap goes up all the better for the loss of these lower limbs. 
Allium Ampebprasum var. Babingtonii now dominates the 
central range of the rock garden, as it is over six feet high, 
and in spite of the flower-heads being mostly composed 
of bulbils of various sizes forming a solid central mass, 
and the flowers being but few, the general outline of 
the giant is so good that I love to see it towering up here 
against the sky from behind the Orange tree and the large 
Asparagus acutifolius, its glaucous leaves and stems con- 


My Garden in Summer 

trasting so well with their deep green tones. A. sphaero 
cephalum is also in flower on a neighbouring mound, and 
much sought after by Bumble-bees. Its crimson globes 
of flowers are very beautiful, and coming so late in the 
year are very useful either in the mixed border or in the 
rock garden. Epihbium hirsutum is just out, and seems a 
fearfully coarse weed to admit to the rock garden, but you 
will not find any of the common form of it now I have 
had my day of cutting and chopping, for I have pulled up 
every one of the ordinary magenta seedlings, and have 
only left good forms, especially a pure white that one of 
my Sunday-school boys with a quick eye and a love of 
natural history found in the Cheshunt Marshes, and an- 
other from a neighbouring garden, with pink buds and 
anthers but white petals which give it a charming Apple- 
blossom effect of colouring. This form is the sinner which 
sows common red ones about if I do not cut its heads off 
before they are ready to do it. Yet another form grows 
in the rock garden, a beautifully variegated one, the white 
patches on its leaves being very clear and brilliant, and 
its pink stems helping the general effect. This I had from 
Glasnevin, where it was grown under the name of E. angusH- 
folium, but it is E. hirsutum right enough. I am fond of 
collecting all the forms I can get of a variable plant, and so 
in other borders you will see a very curious virescent form 
in which the petals are replaced by a succession of green, 
bract-like bodies, more interesting than beautiful, and best 
of all perhaps is a form Mrs. Robb gave me, telling me 
she got it from M. Correvon's garden at Geneva. In this 
the leaves are more silky than in our wild plant, and the 


As July Ends 

flowers are quite a pleasing shade of red much warmer in 
tint than those of most Willow-herbs ; it has a further 
charm in producing wonderfully white and silky tangles 
of seeds after flowering, which, especially v/ith the evening 
light shining through them, show up well from a distance, 
and have a pretty, softening effect among the glare of the 
late summer flowers. I find these forms of E. hirsututn 
are more effective when grown in an ordinary border that 
is fairly dry, and in full sun, than when allowed to enjoy 
themselves according to their natural tastes in the bog 
garden, as in the dry ground they are less leafy and more 
floriferous, and moreover do not run underground quite 
so vigorously as in marshy ground, but even when thus 
well behaved they need a little curtailment, and are certainly 
the better for replanting every second or third year. 

Actaea spicata, the Bane-berry, is now at its best and 
bearing ripe fruit ; the flowers are so ineffective that one 
can only enjoy them with an eye to the future, when they 
shall have become berries. It is a pity this plant is so dread- 
fully poisonous, for my full enjoyment of its beauty is 
always spoilt by a fear lest one of the Sunday scholars may 
not have listened to me or disbelieved my warning lecture 
delivered annually on the first Sunday afternoon I notice 
its ripening charms, for if the old Adam should come out 
strongly, and an experimental tasting be made, I should 
soon have a writhing first-aid case to deal with. The wild 
native black-berried form is not the one I am afraid of, nor 
yet the ordinary bright sealing-wax red one, for it looks hard 
and no more inviting than a Holly-berry ; but I have a 
fine tall form that bears large berries as semi-transparent 


My Garden in Summer 

and alluring in appearance as a Morello Cherry, and when 
ripe of just the same deep crimson colouring. The white- 
berried form I like best of all, but never can induce it to 
berry as freely as the others, and it ripens after the cherry- 
coloured beauty has shed its fruits. It is best to follow 
Miller, and regard it as a separate species, A. alba, its 
more finely cut leaves and curiously swollen pedicels 
being so distinct. The Bane-berry is one of the plants 
I should grow if only for its botanical interest, it is so 
original in its views even for such a large and versatile 
family as the Ranunculaceae. Thus it is the only one of 
its race that has but one carpel, and so forms a link 
with Berberidaceae, and again it imitates the Barberries, in 
ripening that carpel into a juicy berry. 

Eryngiums of the Sea-holly type now claim notice. 
The best is E. Oliverianum and its good forms, as what one 
requires in a Sea-holly is that it should be perennial, free 
flowering, and blue. E. Zabellii, said to be of garden 
origin, seems to me only a very deeply-coloured, rather 
compact form of Oliverianum, and is the one I should 
choose if compelled to limit myself to one. The colour of 
its stems is marvellously blue when at its best, and is as 
successful an advertisement for suggesting a raging thirst 
to passing Bumble-bees as that seductive picture of a 
foaming glass of sparkling beer that I see so often on the 
hoardings is to frail humanity ; I must confess it some- 
times make me wish for luncheon time. 

E. alpinum does not flower freely here, otherwise its 
Honiton lace frill would attract me more than the coarser 
macram6 pattern of E. Oliverianum. Although its lilac 


As July Ends 

tint is not so brilliant, E. amethystinum is a beautiful 
thing, and its small flower-heads make up in quantity for 
their lack of size. The flowers of E. campesire are dull and 
green, and its running habit fits it only for rough places ; 
but in a good form its foliage is very ornamental, deeply 
cut, and a charming grey. E. planum, and its many allied 
forms or aliases, whichever way you regard them, accord- 
ing to your character as a splitter or lumper, are tall 
effective plants for groups in shrubbery borders, but not one 
of them is good enough for the choice borders. E. creticum 
should find a corner, though, as its late flowering and 
branching habit, which provides younger flower-heads to 
constantly replace the pass6e dowagers for some two 
months or more, make it a very useful plant. It seeds 
freely, and it is a good plan to raise seedlings and select and 
save the bluest, as it varies a good deal. A group of five 
plants will make a blue tangle from August to October. 
E. Bourgatii is good for the rock garden ; its leaves are 
prettily marked with white spots, and its habit neat. 
E. glaciale is even smaller and neater, and a gem for the 
sand moraine ; and the biennial E. giganteum is one of the 
best plants for a rough corner, or wild grass-covered 
place, where it may sow itself and colonise ; its branching 
candelabra-like stems and silvery white bracts being won- 
derfully effective, even by night if the moonlight falls on 
them. Its bluish hybrid E. hybridum has failed to colonise 
here, and I do not care for it enough to struggle to satisfy 
its whims, for I believe a majority of the strain to be not 
only biennial, but sterile hybrids. 

So many and so various are the plants in flower 


My Garden in Summer 

now that even if I mention the more uncommon I fear 
there can be little connection between them save that of 
a synchronous florescence. Crinum longi/olium, often called 
C, capense, is a striking object, especially towards evening, 
when its pure white flowers open out wider than in full 
daylight. It has a penchant for the bog garden, but has 
been wonderfully amiable over being placed on a shelf of 
the rock garden, and this season has sent up four strong 
heads of blooms which are worth having in spite of its 
rather straggly, long leaves, Verbascum vernale and Achillea 
Ageratum are two good, tall subjects for the rough and 
tumble of higher banks of the rock garden. The former 
rnust be a close relation of V. Chaixii, and like it is quite 
reliably perennial ; its branching stems bear innumerable 
flowers for a long period. I suspect it of hybridity, as it 
has never set any seeds here, but whatever the plant is, it 
has nothing to do with nigrum, which the Kew Hand-list 
declares to be the right name for vernale. The Achillea's 
flat heads of ydllow flowers are very good when seen 
against the sky, giving an outline that is different from 
that of any other tall flower of the season. Potentilla 
Friedrichsehnii is also yellow, so has some right to be 
noticed next, and so preserve some idea of classification 
in my list. I have pruned an old specimen in the rock 
garden rather severely, insisting on its only increasing 
upwards, and have removed all spreading shoots save those 
that spring from somewhere above three feet, and it has 
made a charming specimen, its pillar-shaped lower growths 
improving the effect of the spreading upper half of the 
bush. Just now it is smothered in its sulphur-yellow 

As July Ends 

flowers like small roses. It is said to be a hybrid between 
P. fruticosa and P. davurica, and the sulphur is certainly in- 
termediate in colour between the rich yellow and white of 
the parents. P. davurica exists here in two forms ; one 
is a congested, close-growing little bush in the rock garden, 
that has never yet flowered, and I rather fancy is a 
dwarfed, hump-backed, or twisty-tempered monstrosity 
that never will do much in flowers ; the other grows in 
the pergola walk, and has made a fair-sized bush, consider- 
ing it is sandwiched in between a large specimen of 
Phormium tenax and another of Esmllonia langleyensis; and 
the picture facing p. 280 will show how good-temperedly 
it makes the best of it, and gives pure white flowers on 
every shoot, looking so happy among the great, stiff, flag 
leaves of the Phormium that I have never taken pity on 
it and moved it to freer quarters. Let us say, " How like 
the world, where the patient and cheery never get any 
pity ! " and then we can all of us sigh and think we are one 
of those misunderstood treasures. 

I should like to reserve a large bed for Potentillas, 
and I feel sure it would be attractive for the whole year ; 
for when P. nepalensis gives up flowering, discouraged by 
December frosts, P. alba generally has a cluster of buds 
down in its heart, a few of which will open whenever a 
day of sunshine gives them encouragement. The bush 
forms have been so largely reinforced by the new Chinese 
introductions that one could make some effective groups 
of them in irregularly placed clumps, and there is a mar- 
vellous wealth of beautiful foliage and brilliant flowers 
to be found in the family and inherited by members of 


My Garden in Summer 

all heights. P. Tonguei, a semi-double, flame-coloured 
form of garden origin, lies almost flat on the ground. 
Gibson's Scarlet is but little higher, but covers a great 
space when happy, and produces the most purely scarlet 
flowers of any. P. McNabiana is a great favourite, its 
orange-scarlet flowers being shaded with a yellow glow 
and backed with buff. P. Hippiana has fine, silvery 
pinnate leaves, but rather small, yellow flowers for such 
promising-looking foliage. P. Hopwoodiana is a garden 
hybrid, and one of the most distinct in colour, a creamy 
flesh tint brightened by bright rosy spots in the centre, 
showing nepalensis is one parent. Even the wild P. An- 
serina, rampant weed though it may be, is a very lovely 
plant, and I have a golden-leaved form that I only allow 
to grow in the gravel path, where it can be kept in check, 
that is surprisingly beautiful when newly arisen in Spring. 
The many gorgeous florists' forms could be grouped 
together, and I should have more of La Vesuve than any 
other ; I so greatly admire its deep scarlet and buff double 
flowers, which always remind me, I suppose on account 
of the colour of their deepest red portion, of newly made 
strawberry jam. But here at present they are scattered 
all over the garden, so we must get back to realities. 
Linum arboreum is as real and pure a yellow as one can 
wish for, and just now is so thick with bloom that we 
hardly see the blue-green leaves that set off the flowers 
so well. It is undoubtedly the best hardy yellow Flax, 
but is not very often seen in good condition ; L. flavum, 
a lanky and less brilliant yellow one, often does duty for 
it beside a label inscribed arboreum, I do not despise 


As July Ends 

flavum, but it is only second best when arboreum is 
visible. I find flavum seeds itself about freely, and needs 
no care beyond keeping it in check lest it smother its 
neighbours, but arboreum needs striking afresh every third 
year, or else the old plants perish in Winter, or flower 
themselves to death. It is very pretty in the warm 
southern bank of the rock garden, hemmed in by the grey 
stones, as shown in the illustration facing p. 282. Then, 
not far from it. Convolvulus mauritanicus has begun its dis- 
play, which will last until really sharp frosts destroy the 
buds. It is often called the Blue Convolvulus, but is far 
too red in tone to be truly called blue, and is really 
mauve with a white eye. It makes a fine curtain all 
over the rocks on this sunny bank, and comes pretty 
well through ordinary winters if the root is pushed under 
one of the stones when first planted. I have a rather 
smaller-flowered, deeper-coloured form for the first time 
this season, but I am rather afraid it is less hardy. C. 
Cantabrka is a gem, with narrow grey leaves, a neat, 
bushy habit, and soft, shell-pink flowers, but is rather 
hard to strike, as almost all the shoots turn their minds 
so early to flowering, and lately it has borne me but 
few seeds. C. Cneorum is still more silvery, and loves 
a hot, dry place such as we can give it, and its 
white flowers and pink buds are freely produced in late 
Summer. C. althaeoides exists here, but I fear will not 
prove hardy enough to flower as it does in Cornwall, for 
after four years my patch has not plucked up courage to 
produce even a bud. It is a fine thing, with very large 
flowers of a curious dull pink, as though one had stirred 


My Garden in Summer 

up claret-cup and a strawberry ice together, and its 
greatest charm is the rich purple eye. The plant that 
generally does duty for it in gardens, and always, so far 
as I know, in nursery lists, is C. tenuissimus, a hardier 
thing and even more beautiful, for its finely-cut leaves are 
silvery and the flowers a lovely bright rose colour. It 
has taken possession of one mound of the rock garden, 
but replaces the bulbous plants of Spring very pleasantly 
in Summer. It is all the happier if provided with a 
pea-stick or two to scramble up, but beware of planting 
it where it could run among plants that would dislike its 
smothering embraces. Campanula Tommasiniana is a dis- 
tinct member of its family, with fine wiry growths and a 
multitude of narrow, tubular bells of a pale lavender 
colour. They are of a peculiarly stiff, firm texture, so 
that if you shake them they make quite a rustling sound, 
and are, perhaps, the only Harebells that can really ring 
a chime. It is a good plant for a chink in the rock 
garden, and once settled down should need no further 
care. My oldest cluttip has been in its place for twenty 
years, and except for having its dead stems cut off in 
Spring, and a few rooted shoots pulled out for friends 
now and then, has been left to its own devices, and has 
spread into a large plant. It is sometimes confused with 
C. Waldstemiana, but differs in having hanging bells instead 
of upright ones. 

My most beautiful flowering shrub of mid-July is a 
Privet, a form of Ligustrum ovalifolium, called very fittingly 
variety multiflorum. I have a standard specimen of this 
Privet on one of the lawns backed by a large Yew, and 


LigusUurn ovalifolium multifloruni. (See p. 284.) 

As July Ends 

when it is one mass of white flowers, almost hiding 
its leaves, it is a fine sight. It was discovered by Mr. 
George Paul one lucky day in France. He saw it 
among the ordinary kind in a hedge, and having an 
eye for a good plant if anyone has, he soon noticed 
that it flowered more profusely than any Privet he 
knew, and so induced the owner to part with it, I 
think he told me, for ten francs, which must have 
seemed a large sum for a bit of a hedge that one franc 
would replace. And now that the flowering form has 
been allowed to grow freely and unshorn, it has shown 
the beauty that Mr. Paul detected promise of so cleverly. 
Every year I think it must flower itself to death — look at 
its picture facing p. 284, and see if you would not — but 
it manages to make a bit of growth and another crop of 
buds before the following July comes round. 

There are several good blue-flowered things at their 
best now — Ceanothus Gloire de Versailles for one, especially 
two old bushes that I have short-coated so that they 
might be called standards, their round heads a mass of 
pale blue that looks wonderfully well contrasted with the 
tall spikes of Lilium testaceum just beneath one of them. 
The soft apricot and cream colouring of this easily 
grown Lily could never clash with anything, but is 
especially beautiful against the grey-blue of the Ceano- 
thus. Both are backed by some large, old tree Ivies, 
whose darker leaves show them up well, and the second 
brood of Holly Blue Butterflies skipping about over the 
Ivies visit the Ceanothus a good deal, and when settled 
are absolutely lost in the silvery-blue flower mass which 


My Garden in Summer 

so closely resembles their own colouring. Agapanthus 
intermedius is a really good hardy border plant that is not 
so well known as it deserves. It is quite cheap — I think 
fivepence a plant from Dutch nurseries — and its deep 
blue flowers are much larger than those of A. minor 
Mooreanus, and I believe it is quite as hardy. For a 
good purple, one should grow Verbena venosa, quite hardy 
in a warm corner in fairly light soil, also Delphinium 
vesHtum, for, even though it has narrower spikes than 
the florists' Larkspurs, it has many good points, such 
as a later flowering period, a graceful, self-supporting 
habit, rich purple flowers with black eyes and stalks, 
handsome leaves, and a general air of well-bred dignity 
about it that I greatly admire. Cistus purpureus I con- 
sider the best of the many red-flowered members of its 
family. It has narrow greyish leaves and very large, 
rosy-purple flowers, and can be known at sight by the 
handsome, deep crimson spots at the base of each petal, 
which it inherits from one of its parents, C. ladaniferus, 
for it is a hybrid, and so never sets seed, and therefore 
take a hint from me and never buy seed if it is listed 
as C. purpureus, or even a plant, without first seeing its 
spotted face. Of late it has been fashionable, but none 
the less iniquitous, to call C. creticus, C. purpureus Sunset. 
This is a very good plant, and the brightest rose carmine 
of any Cistus I know, but quite old enough to be left 
alone under its own name of Creticus. 

Of Montbretia rosea I never get enough, as it is not a 
running, ramping, rapid increaser, like other Montbretias, 
but more bulbous in character ; a delicate-looking, slender 


Convolvulus mauntanicus. (See p. 283.) 

As July Ends 

plant, with pale, rose-coloured flowers, and suitable for 
a warm corner among really choice plants. I am also 
fond of a totally different plant, a large, coarse I might 
almost say, annual Balsam, I used to imagine was an 
albino form of Impatiens Re-let, but when I sent it to Kew 
and then to the late Sir Joseph Hooker, it was declared 
to be something new and unnamed. This was not long 
before Sir Joseph's death, and I have never found out 
if he described or named it to be published presently. 
It came to me from Mr. Bonney, of Rugeley, who has 
grown it for some years, but its origin is a mystery at 
present, as he can only trace it as far as a station- 
master who gave him his first plant. It grows some six 
feet high, like the ordinary Balsams that are so amusing 
to pinch to make the seedpods fire off, but the flowers 
are pure white and very distinguished in appearance, 
looking rare and exotic, somehow far beyond the possi- 
bilities of the old pink ones, but like them they have a 
pleasant scent of ripe plums. I can see Buddkia nivea is 
in flower, but chiefly because the bees are thronging to it, 
otherwise its dingy little purple flowers would pass un- 
observed in the mass of white felt they grow among. The 
flowers are very inconspicuous, and, except for pleasing 
the Bumble-bees, there is not much object in allowing 
it to flower at all, for, if it is kept cut over two or three 
times during the Summer, we get a much better silvery 
effect from the great column it has grown into. 

Malva Alcea vzv.fastigiata is one of the best rosy-pink 
things out now ; it forms a large but very shapely, bushy 
plant, smothered with satiny, pale rose-coloured flowers, 


My Garden in Summer 

and will sow itself with a profuse generosity. Its greatest 
charm is its colour — a soft pink, good enough to compare 
with a La France Rose. Another member of its order 
just misses being a magnificent plant — I mean Kitaibelia 
vitifolia — for, with its handsome leaves and stately six-feet- 
high stems, it wants flowers just three times larger than 
they are in reality. They are pretty and pure white, 
but too much overpowered by the many large leaves. 
There is a very interesting and beautiful form of it known 
as variety Lindemuthii, which has its leaves finely spangled 
with golden yellow. It is said to have been produced 
as a graft hybrid when Professor Lindemuth was experi- 
menting with grafting shrubby plants on herbaceous ones. 
He grafted the variegated form of Abutilon Thompsona on 
to the ordinary Kitaibelia. After a time the scion died, 
but a shoot came forth from the root of the stock, 
which had, in some mysterious way, caught the varie- 
gation of the Abutilon, and this has been propagated 
and distributed fairly widely. The known graft hybrids 
are so few that this handsome, easily grown one 
is worth having. It only wants a single Hollyhock's 
flower on it to make a superb plant. I have a great 
weakness for single Hollyhocks and a dislike for earwiggy 
double ontfs, and a row of the former type, at the back 
of one of the Iris beds by the river, is a very fine sight, 
and is confirming me in my opinion that they are 
better than the double ones for this garden. They sow 
themselves, and provide endless variation of colour, and, 
if an especially beautiful one appears, it can be propa- 
gated by division. I will not say they are quite as 


Xullyhockj, Sunriowers, and En'i),L;iLii 
(See |). 274 ) 

As July Ends 

immune to the rust as I at one time hoped, but they 
are certainly freer from it than any double forms I 
have tried. 

If ever you want to provide an unending struggle for 
a brother gardener, and perhaps make a lifelong enemy 
of him, give him a morsel of the Blue Sowthistle, Lactuca 
alpina. It is so beautiful, and seems to grow so pleasantly 
for its first two seasons, making a compact carpet of hand- 
, some leaves and giving tall stems of lovely blue flowers, 
that anyone who knows not its wicked ways is sure to let 
it make itself at home — then he must spend the rest of 
his life striving to keep the trespasser from running over 
his whole garden ; but other members of the family have 
pleasanter manners, and for a reliable and handsome 
plant I recommend L. Bourgaei. Listen to its good quali- 
ties : no running gadabout habits, but it sits as tight as a 
brooding hen — tighter in fact, for my oldest plant has sat 
in the same place for fifteen years, and I hope will 
continue there for another fifteen ; next, stiff stems that 
need no stake until the many flowering heads are beaten 
by violent rains, and even then a girdle of tarred twine 
to bind them to one another will keep the seven-foot- 
high clump as it should be ; the flowers are a soft bluish- 
lavender, and very freely produced on over a foot of stem, 
and form large branching heads ; and if a few stems 
are shortened early in June, they will branch out and 
flower at a lower level and a little later than the others, 
so if I remember it I like to nip the tops off the outer 
ring of stems of one or two of my plants. Its only 
failing is that it seeds about rather freely, but my visitors 

289 T 

My Garden in Summer 

consider that more as a virtue than a vice. L. Plumieri is 
also good, but for a rougher place, as its leaves are very 
large and rather coarse ; but the stout stem runs up for 
four or five feet and bears large, grey-blue flowers, and 
it makes a tap root instead of runners. L. perennis is 
as dainty and lovely a thing as one could wish for in 
the wilder part of the rock garden, to recall the rocky 
places by the roadside where one sees its blue stars in its 
alpine homes. Escallonia pulverulenta on the wall is very 
effective and unusual in appearance, its grey leaves go 
so well with the pale coral-pink flowers, the whole plant 
looking almost too much of an exotic to be so happy in 
the open. Close by it we have our first flowers on Tri- 
cuspidaria dependens, though it has only reached five feet 
in height, and older and larger specimens I know of in 
Cornwall were much slower in beginning to flower. In 
spite of its being a newcomer and a bit of a rarity still, 
I would exchange it any day for as healthy and hearty 
a plant of T. lanceolata, which is not so hardy here, but 
whose lovely red flowers are much more satisfactory than 
the pallid, not very clear white ones of T. dependens. 
Further along, in a cooler and more shady bed, Mimulus 
Lewisii is very pretty among some good Shield-ferns, its 
clear, rose-coloured flowers looking well among the fern's 
green lace flounces, and Viola canadensis is flowering for 
the second time, and its summer flowers are even larger 
than the first crop that came in Spring. They are 
Violets, not Pansies, in shape ; but very large and very 
white, with a bright lemon-yellow eye and a rosy-purple 
back to the petals that deepens as they age. It is a beau- 


As July Ends 

tiful plant, but very seldom seen in gardens, the one that 
generally does duty for it being V. striata, a smaller cream- 
coloured one that never flowers before July and then con- 
tinues till frost comes, an unusual flowering period for a 
Violet. My V. canadensis came to me as a delightful gift 
from a friend I have made through my wanderings into 
print, but whom I have never yet met. In a Virginian 
wood he thought of me and the kind of plants I liked, 
got a wooden box from the hotel, and filled it with moss 
and plants and posted it to me, and I don't think I ever 
more perfectly enjoyed a box of plants. They arrived 
rather dry, so I sprinkled them and turned them all into 
my vasculum, and left them closed up there all night. 
When I opened it next morning ferns and flowers, moss 
and leaves, were as fresh as though only gathered a few 
hours before, and I sorted them over with the aid of 
Britton & Brown's Flora, and could make out what most 
of them were though they were quite new to me ; and 
except Silene virginica and the Walking Fern, Camptosorus 
rhisophyllus, since devoured by slugs, all are growing well. 




August is always supposed to be a bad month for gardens, 
a breathing-space for the flowers between the rush of 
summer Roses and the best herbaceous plants and the 
final flare-up of Asters and Sunflowers and Dahlias and the 
other gorgeous things of early Autumn ; so I have made 
a practice when in gardens or nurseries of noting plants 
that are good in August and trying them here, therefore 
my garden has something good to show throughout the 
month, unless the Glerk of the Weather refuses us any 
rain. Anomatheca cruenta will brighten up a shady but 
sheltered corner during August. I learnt the tip about 
shade from seeing a fine colony of it at Bitton beneath a 
large Palm, so I copied it here, and between the house 
and the conservatory, and behind my large Palm, it has 
increased as it never did elsewhere in the garden. I have 
just added the albino form to it, hoping it will thrive as 
well as the type, and will some day give us offspring with 
white ground and the crimson patches on it that add so 
much to the beauty of the red-flowered original form. 
Kniphofia Northiae is flowering further along by the con- 
servatory; but its spike is a clumsy and dull-coloured 
affair, not so good as that borne by K. caulescens earlier 
in the season, but the wide, handsome, dark-greeo* leaves 



of K. Northiae make it one of the most tropical-looking of 
plants that are hardy enough to be left out with no more 
protection than a wall to cut off N.E. winds. Cuphea 
ignea grows at its feet, and has reappeared here very satis- 
factorily after the last two mild winters ; but its orange 
and scarlet flowers are worth having, even if one has to 
house it for the winter. The old specimen of Salvia 
Grahamii is, of course, still full of bloom, and this narrow 
bed looks its best in August with so much going on in it. 
The large herbaceous bed is gay with Daisy-flowered plants, 
most of which have been already praised, but other families 
deserve mention. Hydrangea paniculata, var. grandiflora, 
produces a fine sight with its large white heads, and a 
good form of Veratrum album is also very striking, tower- 
ing up almost six feet, and bearing hundreds of really 
white flowers, instead of the greenish ones more often 
seen in this species. HemerocalUs Kwanso, fl. pi., is a 
wonderfully effective neighbour for it, but I wish each 
of the great double orange flowers would last more than 
its allotted day. Several Alliums are helping to fill the 
dull period with a bright display. A. sativum, the garlic 
of the cook, is quite worth growing in the mixed border 
to provide large, pale lilac balls on yard-high stems, 
beautiful from their first appearance when wrapped in 
their pointed green nightcaps, but more so when the time 
comes for a split and the escape of the flower-buds, to be 
followed by six weeks of flowering, and even late in the 
Winter the seed-heads are attractive, as they have such 
a bold outline. A. pulchelktm is one of the prettiest of 
the smaller members of the family ; its flowers are of so 


My Garden in Summer 

bright a shade of mauve and hang gracefully on their 
remarkably thin foot-stalks, and are prettily bell-shaped. 
The variety fiavum is equally good, only a great contrast 
in colour, being a really good clear yellow. Zygadenus 
elegans is an unusual-looking plant, with tall spikes of 
green, white, and yellow flowers, something like those of 
an Ornithogalum in shape. It is a Liliaceous plant from 
America, perfectly hardy and very well suited for a semi- 
shady spot in the rock garden to keep up the interest 
late in the season when its neighbouring Primulas and 
Ramondias are taking it easy. 

The double white form of Saponaria officinalis is a 
prettier flower than the old pink one, but like it a terrible 
devourer of space, and should be hemmed up in a corner 
from which it cannot escape. Sufherlandia frutescens is 
doubtfully hardy, but occasionally gets through the Winter 
here, and then makes a fine specimen and bears many 
bunches of its curiously shaped orange flowers ; they are 
something like those of the closely allied Bladder Sennas, 
Colutea, but hang down and are longer and more pointed, 
and always remind me of the picture in the Nonsense Book 
of Shoebootia utilis, for they are shaped rather like Turkish 
slippers. This year I have a fine tall two-year-old bush 
in the rock garden, but in most seasons I have to be 
content with young six-months-old seedlings. Hyos- 
cyamus aureus in a crevice just beside Sutherlandia is 
full of long spikes of bright yellow, black-eyed flowers. 
My plants of it came from one given me by Mr. Frederick 
H anbury, who gathered the seed from a plant growing in 
the wall of the house of Simon the Tanner at Joppa. 



Sphaeralcea canescens is a recently arrived treasure 
here, brought by a good friend from British Columbia. 
Its grey leaves contrast charmingly with the rich, orange- 
red flowers, and it seems hardier than the more rosy 
S. Munroana, which I generally lose outside in Winter, 
and have to take a potful of cuttings to keep inside. 
5. coccinea is a fine scarlet, and has lived for many years 
here, but is rather a sprawly, weak grower, so I think 
highly of the freely-branching S. canescens and its gene- 
rous supply of blossoms. Close beside it is a group 
of a very pretty double Silene inflaia. I like it better 
than the well-known double form of 5. maritima, whose 
flower-heads are so large that they flop about and 
burst their calices. This one stands upright, and its 
branching stems bear a plentiful supply of fully double 
flowers like tiny Roses. I found it growing wild on the 
edge of a ploughed field at Wretham, in Norfolk ; had 
no trowel with me to dig it up with, but felt certain 
that if I left it I should have great difficulty in finding 
the place again, so, as the soil was sandy, I set to work 
with my fingers and dug about eight inches down, and 
then came to a harder layer of soil, almost a sandstone ; 
the root showed no signs of branching at that depth, so 
I continued work with a half-crown until I deemed it 
safe to pull the root, and so, at last, extracted enough 
to pot up and coax into growth. 

Jasminum floridum, one of the newer Chinese plants, 
makes a delightful bush, and fulfils the promise of its 
name in the wealth of flowers it bears. They are a good 
yellow, but not so sweetly scented as a Jasmine should be. 


My Garden in Summer 

Heliotropium anchusaefoUum is the selfsame plant as 
Tourneforiia heliotropioides ; it makes a large sprawling 
mat of green leaves and has pretty mauve flowers that 
look so much like Cherry-pie that it is disappointing 
to find they have none of its sweet scent. Once estab- 
lished in light soil it is fairly hardy, and a handful of 
bracken has been enough to protect it during several win- 
ters here. Fuchsia gracilis is a glowing show of crimson 
flowers and buds ; Solanum jasminoides, on the roof 
of the shelter-house, is just beginning to flower ; and 
Clematis Armandii has given us a second flowering this 
year: these summer blooms are larger and whiter than 
those of April. 

Flowering shrubs that will come to one's help in 
mid-August are none too plentiful, so those that make 
a bright display are of great price ; Genista aethnensis 
is one of the best, for an old specimen has so many 
good points — among them I reckon a trunk that is a 
veritable tree, graceful pendant branches, slender twigs 
of a rich green, a delightful habit of bearing its bunches 
of flowers scattered evenly over the whole plant, and a 
delicious scent to crown all. 

Spartium junceum, the well-known Spanish Broom, if 
sheared over in Spring, though contrary to the treatment 
required by most of its near relations, should be a solid 
mass of its great yellow flowers just at this period ; I 
am sure they are finer and more effective for an annual 
Spring pruning than if left to straggle, and if one nips 
the tell-tale sharp-nosed keel out of a spike of extra 
large ones for a button-hole, it is possible to excite a 


r.cnista uellmnisis. (See p. ^ijd. ) 


Sweet Pea enthusiast into the belief that you are wearing 
a yellow variety of his favourite flower. 

Hyhiscus syriacus, alias Althea frutex, in its many single 
varieties, gives good things for a sunny position with soil 
conditions that are moist and cool — their feet in a well 
and their heads in a furnace, in fact, as the Arabs de- 
scribe the best conditions for Palms. I find the double- 
flowered ones only make a show in very sunny seasons 
here, and even then I do not like any of them so well 
as the more reliable single ones, the best of which, to 
my idea, is a Japanese form known as Hamabo. It 
was imported from Japan by the late Mr. Chambers, 
and was so much admired in his beautiful garden at 
Haslemere that cuttings were soon given by his generous 
hand to many friends, and most of the older bushes in 
this country, mine included, can be traced to him or 
to Bitton, where a similar centre of distribution was 
soon established. It has very large, perfectly-shaped, 
flesh-coloured flowers, with magnificent deep maroon 
eyes and a few radiating red veins, and seems to be 
one of the first to flower. The variety called totus 
albus is pure white and very beautiful, but has a rival 
in Snowdrift, with rather larger flowers, which, I expect, 
will surpass the older form when it has had time to make 
large specimens. The best red one I know is var. ruHs, 
with flowers of a pleasant, softened purplish-crimson, and 
var. coelestis is so nearly the colour of cobalt in parts that 
it gives one the effect of a blue rather than of a purple 
flower, and is a remarkably beautiful shrub when flowering 
well. Nandina domestica grows, as it should with such a 


My Garden in Summer 

specific name, close to the house, and as it does in Japan, 
wheire every garden, however small, possesses a specimen 
close by the door. One would like to think it was so 
favoured on account of its beauty, but I have been told 
that it produces wood with an aromatic flavour that is 
valued by the Japanese as being the most tasty and 
suitable for a toothpick. If this be true the poetry of 
the name domestica vanishes, so let us hope it is false. 
Anyway, I grow the plant for its beauty, and like to 
remember that Celestial Bamboo is one of its old names. 
It does well here, I believe, chiefly because it is shaded 
by a screen of Ivy from the southern sunshine, and it 
is practically evergreen, only losing its leaves after 
severe winters. My plant is five feef high and beautiful 
all the year, perhaps most especially so when the young 
leaves are every imaginable shade of crimson, copper, 
and bronze, and contrast with the deep green old ones ; 
but now, in August, with its large bunches of white 
flowers, it is quite worthy of a place so near to the 
morning-room window. The fine red berries that are 
produced freely in warmer countries, and especially in 
the gardens round Pau, where they are largely used for 
Christmas decorations, are never ripened here, or it 
might well be at its best in Winter. 

Yucca filamentosa var. flaccida is one of the best of its 
family for flowering generously, and I am disappointed 
of my lust if I have not some scores of flower-spikes each 
August. But then I have dabbled rather largely in this 
particular floral investment, having learnt to love it and 
its kindly ways in my earliest gardening days, buying a 



plant now and then for eighteenpence from a local 
nurseryman who had a very large stock of it. Then 
he retired from business, and at his sale I was able 
to buy the greater part of his Yucca beds at a very 
comfortable figure. So here they are, some in a large, 
irregular planting on a lawn, others forming ends to 
beds of shrubs, but all of them delightful whether in 
or out of flower. It is not such a handsome plant 
as the true, wide-leaved Y. filamentosa, the real Adam's 
Needle-and-Thread, for the effect of its rosettes of 
leaves is not so bold, and its flowers are smaller, but 
it is far better tempered, and produces offsets so freely 
round the central rosette that by the time it is ready 
to flower and die, there are generally two or three 
others to replace it. The leaves are slightly glaucous, 
and have a curious habit, that I have not noticed in any 
other Yucca, of producing horny and spiral outgrowths 
from their edges when the plant is growing vigorously. 
A large group of it is very pleasing, as the deep blue- 
green leaves make a dense mass about two feet high ; 
the flower-stems rise to about four feet, and I think it is 
the hardiest of all Yuccas, only needing a well-drained 
situation quite in the open. 

Sidalceas, especially the white form of S. Candida and 
the pale pink 5. Listen, flower in August, and of course 
where Phloxes do well, which means where the soil is 
not too dry, they now make a fine show. My favourites 
here are the well-known Coquelicot, so nearly a scarlet ; 
General van Heutsz, so seldom spelt rightly, and no 
.wonder with such a final arrangement of consonants, a 


My Garden in Summer 

lovely warm salmon with a cool grey centre ; Fianc6e and 
Mrs. Jenkins, good whites ; and then for quite another 
part of the garden, so that the two groups cannot clash 
with each other, I like a few purple and lilac varieties, 
Le Mahdi is a fine purple and Dr. Charcot rather bluer, 
and an old plant from our grandmothers' gardens, the 
wild type of P. paniculata, which they called the Caro- 
lina Lychnidea, very tall and rosy lilac, though its flowers 
are not so large as those of the newer varieties, fits 
in well with this group as to colour. Crinum PoweUii, 
both the pink, white, and intermediate forms, are throw- 
ing lip their strong crimson stalks, and have many flowers 
open, and Lilium Henryi is at its best. This is a very 
well-behaved Lily here, and a group at the end of the 
Eremurus bed makes a fine show. One should be 
careful, if staking is necessary, to allow the stick to reach 
no higher than half-way up the stem, so that the upper 
half may take its natural curving habit, which makes 
it look like a giant Solomon's Seal. Then the flowers 
are spread out in a grand wide head, and the poise 
is delightful, each one hanging over in its natural way : 
if the stem is held stiffly upright half the charm is 
destroyed. Antirrhinum majus is a most useful thing to 
poke in here and there in Spring, where one knows 
bulbous plants will leave gaps later on, and if some of the 
glorious shades of colour now at our disposal are chosen, 
the late summer borders can be filled with rich colouring, 
for I know nothing that will stand our droughts so 
cheerfully ; long centuries of life on dry walls has doubt- 
less left this good trait in their character. I like the tall 


Aniinliiiuinis (Snapclru'^oni.). }\y K. F(irteM:iit' }'.riiki_lair. 
(See p. ^oo.) 


varieties best, and can be kind to medium ones if they are 
of lovely colouring, but I cannot tolerate the hunchbacks 
that form the dwarf race. The larger florists' Clematis 
do not do well here, I am sorry to say ; that mysterious 
fate, a sudden blasting, overlooking, the Evil Eye, or 
whatever it is that causes a healthy-looking plant to flag 
and die as suddenly as though struck by lightning, over- 
takes many a Clematis as well as Daphne Mezereum much 
too frequently in this garden. The viticella group thrives 
best, and that lovely climbing form of integrifolia known as 
Durandii is fairly reliable. I am hoping that a discovery 
I have lately made of an English nursery in which they 
are all grown on their own roots, will help me to once 
more have the masses of mauve Lady Northcliffes and 
purple Jackmaniis I have loved and lost so often — that is if 
the evil practice of grafting on C. vitalba stock is the cause 
of previous failures. C. viticella alba has been grand some 
seasons on the trellis, and has a curious way of pro- 
ducing a number of quite green flowers at times, and then 
green-tipped ones perhaps for a week or so, and after that 
will steady down into a supply of purest white ones like 
large butterflies. The real butterflies I see have transferred 
their affections from the purple Buddleias, now failing 
in their supplies of honey, to Aster acris, one of the plants 
whose advent points out that Summer is almost finished, 
and ushers in the real Michaelmas Daisies ; so also in the 
rock garden I see the rains of last week have brought up 
the leafless flowers of Crocus Scharojanii, so richly orange 
in their shade of yellow, and so reminiscent of Spring, 
and more autumnal still are the red stems and hanging 


My Garden in Summer 

bells of Leucojum autumnale which have suddenly appeared 
from the bare ground. So I go to look for other signs of 
the times, and sure enough here is Scilla autumnalis, both 
the ordinary blue, and a very lovely pure white form I 
found on the Start, just below the Lighthouse, many years 
ago, opening their first blossoms, and Cyclamen neapoU- 
tanum has a flower or two out. So I must close this 
chapter and volume before the first Colchicum and 
Crocus zonaius appear, or I shall be robbing Peter to 
pay Paul, and giving to Summer plants what should be 
reserved for a future account of My Garden in Autumn 
and Winter. 


C'icnutti^. \''V hlw^h L. Nwrri 
(See p, 301.; 


Abutilon, 255 

— Thompsonii, 288 
Acacia Baileyana, 144, 254 
Acanthus CaroH-Alexandri, 117 

— longif alius, 117 

— mollis, ii7 

— Schottii, 117 

— spinosus, 117 

— — var. spinosissimus, 117 
Acer calif arnica aurea, 124 

— Negundo, 169 
Achillea, 238 

— Ageratum, 280 

— Ctoewwae, 238 

— jBoscAaia, 238 

— umbellata, 238 
^coniVxm ^n^^oca, 200 
/lco»-MS Calamus, 173 
Actaea alba, 278 

— spicata, 277 

Adam's Needle and Thread, 299 
Adenocarpus anagyrus, 143 

— decarticans, 143 

— foliosa, 144 
/leg'Ze sepiaria, 275 
Aestivation, 55 ei iej, 
Agapanthus, 255 

— inieyjweflliKs, 286 

— wiMoy Jlf ooj-eawMs, 286 
Agathaea coelestis, 257 
Agave, 181, 182, 194 

— americana, 191 

— applanata, 191 

— Parryi, 190, 191 

— M<aAe«iis, 191 
Ageratum, mexicanum, 258 
^jVa caespitasa, 222, 223 

— flexuosa, 223 

— vivipara, 223 
Alchemilla grandiflora, 153 

Aldersey, Mr., 271 

Allen, Grant, TAe Colours of Flowers, 

Allium Ampeloprasum, var. Babing- 
tonii, 27s 

— OiiyozasAiawMW, 152 

— pulchellum, 293 

— — var.^awMOT, 294 

— sflWi;«»j, 293 

— Schoenoprasum, var. sibiricum, 

— sphaerocepkalum, 276 
Almond blossom, 264 

— dwaif, 207, 273 

— purple, 169 
Aloe, 182, 195 

— abyssinica, 197 

— arborescens, 193 

— ferox, 197 

— Hanburyana, 197 

— mitraefarmis, 198 

— saponaria, 198 

— variegata [Partridge Breast], 

Alpine heights in June, 202 

— meadows, 219, 220 
Althaea frutex, oiHybiscus syriacus, 

q.v., 297 
Anderson, Miss, 208, 210 
Andrews' Geraniaceae, 94 
Anemone alpina, 135, 220 
Anamatheca cruenta, 292 
Anthemis, 242 

— E. C. Buxton, 240 

— tinctoria, var. Kelwayi, 239 
Anthurium, Scherzerianum, 270 
Antirrhinum majus, 300 
Apera arundinacea, 235 
Aphyllanthes monspeliensis, 222 
Apocynaceae, 56 


My Garden in Summer 

Aquatics, 157-179 

Arenaria balearica, 96, 115 

Aroids, 18 

Arrhenatherum bulbosum, 230 

Arrowheads, 165, See Sagittaiia 

Artemisias, 125 

Arum, White, 168 

Arundo conspicua, 228 

— Donax, 35, 227 

— Phragmites, 166 
Asparagus acutifoHus, 145, 275 

— — var. orientalis, 145 
Aster acris, 301 

— alpinus, 238 

— incisifolius, 245 

— Mesa grande, or Erigeron 
speciosus, 245 

— Thompsonii, 244 

— — var. Winchmore Hill, 244 

— Tradescantii, 238 
Asters, treatment of, 244 
Astilbe Davidiana, 176 

— grandis, 176 

— sinensis, 175 , 
Atragene alpina, 73 
Atraphaxis Billardieri, 217 

— buxifolia, 218 

— lanceolata, 218 
Atriplex Halimus, 125 
August, 292-302 
Azalea mollis, 264 
AzoUa caroliniana, 162, 165 

Baker, Hiatt, 206 
Balm of Gilead, 259 
Balsam, annual, 287 
Bamboos, 38, 219, 228 

— the Celestial, 298 
Bane-berry, 277, 278 
Barbary Ragwort, 254 
Barberries, 278. See also Berberis 
Bauhin's Pinax, 68 
Bean, Bog, 160 

— Buck, 161 
Bedding out, 252-262 
Bellis perennis, 238 

— rotundifolia coerulescens, 238 
Berberidaceae and Ranunculaceae, 

Berberis, dwarf, 255 
Beschornerias, 195 
Bidens dahlioides, 241 

Bieberstein, 210 
Bilbergia nutans, 193 
Bistort, 220 
Bladder Senna, 294 
Bocconia, 135 
Bog Bean, 160 

— Myrtle, 172 
Boissier, Flora Orientalis, 210 
Bonney, Mr., 287 
Botanical Magazine, 94, 98 
Boussingaultia baselloides, 144 
Bouteloua oligostachya, 229 
Bramble, a New Zealand, 147 
Briza maxima, 133, 226, 229 

— media, 229 
Britton and Brown's Flora of the 

United Stales, 168, 291 
BromeUads, 192 
Broom, scent of, 264 

— Spanish, 296 
Brown, Mr. N. E., 215 

— Sir Thomas, 54, 57 
Buck Bean, 161 
Buddleia, butterflies on, 151 

— globosa, 150 

— nivea, 287 

— variabilis, 150, 269 
Bulrush, 158 

Buphthalmum salicifolium, 245 
Burbidge, F. W., 268 
Burman, Plantarum Africanarum, 

Burnet Rose, Wild, 51, 63, 64 
Burning Bush, 43 
Bush Lawyer, 148 
Butcher's Broom, 107 
Butomus umbellatus, 160 
Butterflies on Buddleias, 151 
Buxton, E. C, 240 

Cabbage moths on Romneyas, 206 
Cactuses, 182, 183, 184, 185 
Caesalpinus, 68 
Calceolarias, 252, 253 
Calibanus caespitosus, 200 
Calla palustris, 174 
Calthas, 169 
Camerarius, 68 
Campanula, £io 

— abietina, 154 

— alliariaefolia, 211 

— barbata, 155 


Campanula, caespitosa Miranda, 211 

— celtidifolia, 209, 210 

— cenisia, 23, 214 

— excisa, 214, 215 

— Grossekii, 210 

— lactiflora, 207, 209, 210, 273 

— lamiifolia, 211 

— latifolia, 211 

var. macrantha, 211 

— linifolia, 212 

— Loreyi, 155 

— patula, 154 

— persicifolia, 273 

— pulcherrima, 210 
^ rapunculoides, 210 

— Rapunculus, 155 

— rhomboidalis, 214 

— sibirica, 210 

— tomentosa, 211 

— TowwasiVjiaMa, 284 

— PTaWstej jiiaMa, 284 
Cennptosorus rhUophyllus, 291 
Canadian Osmunda, 170 
Candle-plant, 199 

Ccinnas, 258 

— purple-leaved, 254 
Caparne, Mr., 26 
Carex baldensis, 232 

— Bitchananii, 232 

— Fraseri, 231 

— Gaudichaudiana, 233 

— »»OMta«a, 232 

— pyrenaica, 231 

— scaposa, 231 

— strictus, 176 

— Vilmorinii, 232 
Carnations, 266 

— clove, 267 

— Duchess of Wellington, 267 

— Elizabeth Shiffner, 267 

— Ellen Wilhnott, 267 

— Grenadine single, 268 

— Marigold, 267 

— Miss Audrey Campbell, 267 

— Mrs. Cutbush, 267 

— Mrs. Reynolds Hole, 267 

— Raby Castle, 266, 267 

— Renown, 267 

— Trojan, 266, 267 

— wild species, 268 

— winter-flowering, 265 

— Yellow Queen, 267 

Carolina Lychnidea, 300 


Cassias, 38 

Castellar, collecting at, 213 

Cattleya, 22 

Ceanothus Gloire de Versailles, 285 

Cedronella triphylla, 259 

Celandine Poppy, 137 

Celosias, 22 

Centaurea babylonica, 248 

— Clemeniii, 254 

— macrocephala, 248 

— montana, 263, 272 

— ruihenica, 249 

— Scabiosa, 249 
Cerastium tomentosum, 125 
Cereus, 180, 182, 183, 184, 188, 194 

— grandiflorus, 193 

— paucispinus, 187 
Chambers, the late Mr., 297 
Cheeseman, Mr., 215, 216, 232 
Chelidonium, 138 

— majus, 135 
Chenault of Orleans, 242 
Chionodoxa, 76 
Chives, 118 

Chrysanthemum frutescens, Mrs. 
Sander, 258, 269 

— leucanthemum, 237, 240 

— maximum, 131, 240, 242 

— — King Edward VII, 243 

— — King Edward VII Im- 
proved, 243, 244 

— — Princess Henry, 243 

— — vomerense, 243 
Cineraria maritima, 254 

Cistus creticus, or C. purpureus 
Sunset, 286 

— ladaniferMS, 286 

— purpureus, 286 
Citranges, hybrid, 143 
Cladium mariscvis, 233 
Clematis, 301 

— Armandii, 145, 296 

— integrifolia, 120 

— — Durandii, 301 

— Jachmanii, 301 

— Lady Northcliffe, 301 

— montana rubens, lo 

— vitalba, 301 

— viticella, 301 

— — alba, 301 



My Garden in Summer 

Clusius, 20 
Cock's-foot, 230 
Colchicum, 302 
CoUetia spinosa, 143 
Colouring of flowers, 64, 65 
Colutea, 294 
Convallaria, 149 
Convolvulus althaeoides, 283 

— Cantabfica, 283 

— CneoYum, 283 

— tnawitanicus , or Blue Con- 
volvulus, 283 

— tenuissimus, 284 
Coreopsis Drummondii, 242 
Corokia Cotoneaster, 217 
Cotoneaster multiflora, 208 
Cotoneasters, 255 

Cotton Grass, Tyrolean, 229 
Cotyledons, 180, 182, 189, 197 

— farinosa, 189 

— (Echeveria) Purpusii, 189 

— gibbiflora, 197 

— metallica crispa, 197 
Coxcombs, 22 
Crambe cor dif alia, 116 
Crane's-bill, 94. See also under 


— blue, 99 

— Dusky, 106 

— Pencilled, 92 

— Wood, 98 
Crassula arborescens, 193 

— {Rochea) fakata, 199 

— per fossa, 199 

— portulacea, 193 

— sarcocaulis, 189 

Crataegus Oxyacantha inermis, 217 
Crinum, 20 

— lotigifolium, or capense, 280 

— Powellii, 300 
Crithmum maritimum, 114 
Crocus Imperati, 22 

— longiflorus, 22 

— Scharofanii, 301 

— zonatus, 302 
Cuphea ignea, 293 
Cure-all, 246 
Cyclamen europeum, 212 

— neapolitanum, 302 
Cyperus alternif alius, 169 

— /ojjg'Ms, 168, 169, 233 

— vegetus, 233 


Dactylis glomerata, 230 
Daffodils, acclimatisation of New 
Zealand bulbs of, 4 

— the last, 4 

— twisted leaves of Narcissus 

maximus, 38 
Dahlias, CoUerette, 22 

— single, for cutting, 270 
Daisies, 237-251. See under Chry- 

— Blue, 238 

— New Holland, 247 

— treatment of, 244 
Damp bed, the, 118 
Daphne Mexereum, 301 
Dasylirion, 191 

— Hookeri, 192 

— longifolium, 192 
Delphinium, 130 

— vestiium, 286 
Dianthus Caryophyllus, 268 
Dicranostigma Franchetianum, 138 
Dictamnus Fraxinella, 43 

Dietes Macleai, 255 
Digitalis ferruginea, 273 
DiUenius, 200 

— Hortus Elthamensis, 94 
Diospyros Kaki, 147 

Dog Daisies, 237 

— Rose, 51, 53, 55, 57 
Doronicums, for cutting, 270 
Douglasia, 221 
Duckweed, Ivy-leaved, 162 
Dunington, Miss, 139 

Dykes, W. R., 27, 30, 33, 37, 41 

EcHEVKRiAS, 189. See Cotyledon 
Echinocactus, 184 
Echinopsis, 183, 188, 195 
Eckinops horridus, 249 

— persicus, 249 

— Ritro, 249 

— Tournefortei, 250 
Edelweiss, 42, 229 
Elder, golden-leaved, 124 

— scent of, 264 
Elecampane, or Cure-all, 246 
EUacombe, Canon, 35, 88, 113, 251 
Elwes, H. J., 179 

Elymus giganteus, 227 

— glaucus, 226 
Enfield Market Cross, 85 


Epilobium hirsutum and varieties, 

276, 277 
Eremurus Bttngei, i2j 

— Elwesianus, 123 

— graniiflorus, 245 

— Olgae, 123 

— Shelf or di, 123 

— Warei, 123 
Erigeron, 239, 242 

— mucronaius, 247 

— multiradiatus, 245 

— Quakeress, 239 

— salsuginosus, 239 

— speciosus, 239, 245 

— Tournefortei, 250 
Erodium, 110,112 et seq. 

— absinthioides, 11 n 

— amanum, 113 

— carvifolium, 113 

— - chamaedry aides, or Reichardii, 


— cowic«»», 114 

— gr«i»i«»», no 

— guttatum, or cheilanthifolium, 

— hymenodes, 112, 113 

— jnocj-aieMMw, 114 

— Manescavii, 112, 113 

— — var. luxurians, 112 

— origin of name, 94 

— pelargoniflorum, 112, 113 

— romanum, 113 

— seeds of, no 

— Semettovii, no 
— '■ supracanum, 114 

Eryngium, 136, 274 

— agavifoUum, 274 

• — cUpinunt, 278 ' 

— amethystinum, 279 

— Bourgatii, 279 

— campestre, 279 

— cyaWcMW, 279 

— giganteum, 279 

— glaciate, 279 

— hybridum, 279 

— 0/jwenanMw, 278 

— planum, 279 

— Sea-holly types, 278 

— se»-»'a, 274 

— Zabellii, 278 
Erythrochaete palmatifida, 170 
Escallonia langleyensis, 281 

Escallonia pulverulenta, 290 
Esparto Grass, 226. See 5W/'a 
Eucalyptus trees, 47 

— pulverulenta, 146 
Eucommia ulmoides, 44 
Euphorbia, 198 

— awWyMorMjjj, 198 

— cereiformis, 198 

— pendula, 198 
Evening Primroses, 56 

Faerer, Reginald, 140, 207, 211, 

Felicia abyssinica, 247 

— petiolaris, 257 
Ferns, 170 e< seq. 

— Marsh, 174 

— Royal, 170 

— Walking, 291 

Fescues, dwarf, 230. See also 

Festuca elatior, 222 

— glauca, 230 

— viridis, 230 
Flaxes, 282. See Linum 

— New Zealand. See Phormium, 

Flowering Rush, 160 
Flowers for cutting, 263-272 

— succession of, 271, 272 

— when to gather, 270 
Foliage, spotted, 37, 38 

— vases of, 169 
Ford, J. W., 171 

Foster, Sir Michael, 27, 34, 35 
Fuchsia, 258 

— aestivation in, 56 

— bicolor, 274 

— gracilis, 274, 296 

— pumila, 274 

— retroflexa, 274 

— Riccartonii, 274 
Funkia Fortunei, 152 

— undulata variegata, 131 
Furcraeas, 191 

Gale, Sweet, or Bog Myrtle, 172, 

Galingale, 168, 169 
Garden House, the, 152 
Garlic, 293 
Garry a elliptica, 272 


My Garden in Summer 

Gasteria, 194 

— disHcha, 195 

— verrucosa, 195 
Gay a Lyallii, 146 

Genista aethnensis, 296. See also 
Broom ' 

Gentiana Kurroo, 3 

— verna, 214 
Gentianaceae, 56 
Geranium, 92-115 

— aconitifoUum, or rivulare, 106 

— albanum, or cristatum, 105 

— anemonaefoUum, 103 

— angulatum, 98, 99 

— argenteum, 95, 96 

— armenum, 98 

— asphodeloides, 106 

— blue, 99 et seq. 

— bohemicum, 106 

— cinereum, 95, 96 

— — var. subcaulescens, 95 

— difierentiation from Pelar- 
goniums, 108 

— Endressii, 102 

— eriostemon, 100 

— Fremontii, 105 

— grandiflorum, 99 

— ibericum, 100 

— iMfej-jwediMm, 95 

— Lowei, 104 

— nepalense, 97 

— «odos«>», 105 

— origin of name, 93 

— palustre, 99 

— ^AoeMW, 106 

— platyanthum, 100 

— platypetalum, 100 

— polyanthes, 105 

— pratense, 93, loi 

— — double, loi, 102 

— — var. striatum, loi 

— psilosiemon, 98 

— pyrenaicum, 105 

— reflexum, 107 

— Richardsonii, 105 

— sanguineum, 97 

— — album, 96 

— — /aMcas<n'e»we, 96, 97 

— — prostratum, 96, 97 

— sessiliflorum, 103 

— sWaiMW, 92, 102 

— sylvaticum, 98 

Geranium, Traversii, 103 

— WaWicAjawMm, loi, 105 

— We66iaMM»», 96 

— W/osiOOTaMMw, 105 

— yesoense, 105 
Gerard, 68, 94, 132, 200 
Geum reptans, 23 

Ghost Tree, foliage of, 169 
Gladiolus brenchleyensis, 32 
Globe-flowers, 169 

— Thistles, 249 
Goats' Beard, 220 
Godetias, 22 

Golden-leaved plants, 124 
Gough Park, Garden ornaments 

from, 147 
Grasses, 219-236 

— golden, 230 

— large, 219-228 

— smaller, 228 
Grevillea rosmarinifolia, 143 
Groundsel family, 200 

— Giant, 246 
Gumbleton, W. E., 91, 243 
Gunner a arenaria, 178 

— chilensis, or manicata, 178, 179 

— dentata, 178 

— monoica, 178 

— sckbra, iy&, 179 
Gypsophila paniculata and carna- 
tions, 268 

Habenaria chlorantha, 178 
Hanbury, Frederick, 294 
Haworthias, 182, 194, 195 
Hawthorn, pricjdes of, 53 

— scent of, 264 
Hazel catkins, 272 
Helenium, 24 

— autumnale, 247 

— Bolanderi, 246 

— cupreum, 241, 242 

— grandicephalum, Riverton Gem, 

— pumtlum magntficum, 246 
Helianihus, 242, 247 
Heliopsis, 247 
Heliotrope, 256 

Heliotropium anchasaefoHum, or 

Tournefortia heliotropioides, 296 
Hemerocallis Kwanso, fl. pi., 293 
Henry, Augustine, 87 



Herb-Robert, 104 

Hermann, 68 

Heron' s-bills, 94, 112. See Erodium 

Hollyhocks, 288 

Honeysuckle, 19 

Hooker, Sir Joseph, 287 

House leeks, 229 

Humea elegans, 262 

Hyacinths, scent of, 264 

Hybiscus, 297 

— syriacus, or AUheafrutex, 297 

— — coelestis, 297 

— — Hamabo, 297 

— — rubis, 297 

— — Snowdrift, 297 

— — totus albus, 297 
Hydrangea paniculata, var. grandi- 

flora, 293 
Hylomecon japonica, 138 
Hyoscyamus aureus, 294 
Hypericum aureum, 274 

— Hookeri, 124 

— patulum, 274 

— triflorum, 124 

Inula crithmoides, 114 

— Helenium, 246 
Iris beds, the, 14-29 
Iris, Albert Victor, 21 

— - albicans, 26 

— albopurpurea, 39 

— amoena varieties, 14, 16, 18 

— Ariadne, 33 

— aurea, 35, 36 

— Bacchus, 25 

— Bearded, 20, 32 

— Beardless, 30 

— Black Prince, 25 

— Boissieri, 30 

— Chrysolora, 32 

— Coeleste, 24 

— De Bergh, 16 

— distinction between natives of 
dry and wet soil, 37 

— Donna Maria, 18 

— Duchesse de Nemours, 18 

— Dutch, 30 

— dwarf, 14, 15, 16 

— English, 32 

— filifolia, 30 

— flavescens, 26 

— florentina, 14, 17 

Iris, foetidissima, 224 

— fulva, 37 

— germanica, 14, 28, 37 

— — aurea, 15 

— Golden Fleece, 14 

— Gracchus, 15 

— Innocenza, 16 

— Intermediate, 26 

— Jacquiniana, 16 

— Japanese, 20, 38, 39, 159 

— Julius, 33 

— Kaempferi, 38, 169 

— kaskmiriana, 27 

— Kochii, 28 

— La Prestigieuse, 16 

— laevigata, 39 

— Leander, 14 

— Leonidas, 25 

— Madonna, 27 

— Maori King, 15 

— Mer de Glace, 33 

— Milesii, 41, 45 

— Mme. Chereau, 25 

— Monnieri, 35 

— Monspur, 35 

— Mont Blanc, 33 

— Morning Mist, 39 

— Mr. Veen, 33 

• — Mrs. H. Darwin, 16 

— Mrs. Neubronner, 16 

— neglecia, 25 

— ochraurea, 34 

— ochroleuca, 33, 35 

— orientalis, 36 

— pallida, 14, 20, 24, 35 

— — dalmatica, 21, 22, et seq. 

— — guide to identity of, 24 

— plicata, 16, 25 

— Princess of Wales, 26 

— Pseudacorus, 37, 39, 40, 41 

— — var. Bastardii, 40 

— Psyche, 33 

— Purple King, 28, 29 

— Queen of May, 24 

— Regelio-cyclus, 18 
• — Rembrandt, 31 

— sibirica, 36 

— Snow Queen, 36 

— Spanish, 30, 32 

— spuria, 33, 34, 35, 36 
alba, 35 

— squalens varieties, la. 


U 2 

My Garden in Summer 

Iris, tectorum, 41, 42, 44, 45 

— Thorbeck, 18 

— Thunderbolt, 32 

— tingitana, 30, 31 

— unguicularis, 20, 271 

— variegata, 15 

— — aurea, 15 

— versicolor, 37, 40 

— Victorine, 18 

— xiphioides, 32 

— Xiphium, 30 
Isham, Sir Charles, 104 
Ivy timber, 17 

— tree, 107, 285 
Ivy-leaved Duckweed, 162 

Jacques, M., 77 
Jasminum floridum, 295 

— white, 147 
Jtmcus acutus, 233 

King Crabs, 152 
Kingsmill, Andrew, 231 
Kitaibelia vitifolia, 288 

— — var. Lindermtthii, 288 
Kleinia, 199 

— Anteuphorbium, 199 

— articulata, 181, 199 

— tomentosa, 200 
Kniphofia caulescens, 254, 292 

— Northiae, 292, 293 

— Tysonii, 254 

Knuth, Das Pflanzenreich, 94, 96, 
98, loi, 106, 109 

Lactuca alpina, 289 

— Bourgaei, 289 

— perennis, 290 

— P?Mmien', 290 
Lady's Mantle, 153 
Lastyea Thelypteris, 1"]^ 
Lavatera maritima grandiflora, 261 
Lavenders, 139 

Leichtlin, Max, 99 
Lemna trisulca, 162 
Leucofum aestivum, 158 

— autumnale, 301 

— Hernandezii, 158 
Lewisia Howellii, 211 
L'heritier, 93, 94 

Ligusirum ovalifolium, var. multi- 
florum, 284 

Lilies, 121, 132. See Lilium 

— Martagon, 132 

— mountain, 132 

— St. Bruno's, 220 
Lilium auratum, 264 

— bulbiferum, 121, 122 

— colchicum, OT monadelphum, 132 

— croceum, 121, 122 

— Harrisonii, 132 

— Henryi, 300 

— monadelphum, 132 

— — var. Szovitzianum, 132 

— pyrenaicum, 132 

— iesteceMJW, 285 

— WashingtonioMum, 204 
Lily of the Valley, 265 
Limnanthemum nympkaeoides , or 

Villarsia, 161 
Lindemuth, Prof., 288 
Linnaeus, 20, 55, 68, 93 
Linum arboreum, 282, 283. See 

also Flax 

— flavum, 282 
Lobel, 68 

Lobelia, Blje, 252, 253, 254 
Loddiges, 214 
Lonicera tragophylla, 204 
Lowe, Dr., 88, 120, 134, 135, 261 
• — Miss, 48, 86 
Lunatic Asylum, the, 15 
Luzula luiea, 234 

— marginata, 234 

— maxima, 234 

— nivea, 234 
Lychnis Floscuculi, 119 
Lygeum spartium, 226 
Lynch, R., 189 

Madagascar Reed, 169 
Magnolia siellata, 275 
Mallows, 261. See also Malva 
Malva A Icea, var. fastigiata, 287 
Malvaceae, 56 

Malvastrum grosstdariaefolium, 261 
Mammillaria, 181, 182, 198, 201 

— elongata, 198 
Manettiabicolor, 144 
Maple, Silver, 169 
March Fern, 174 
Marigolds, African, 22 
Martagon Lilies, 14 
Matthiola bicornis, 260 



Matthiola tristis, 259, 260 
Meadow Sweet, scent of, 264 
Meconopsis, 76 

— integrifolia, 216 

— Wallichii, 204 
Melianthus major, 254 
Melica altissima, 222 

— papilionacea, 228 

— uniflora, 228 
Mentha Pulegium, 178 
Menyanthes trifoliata, 160 
Mertensia paniculata, 118 

— pulmonarioides , or virginica, 

Mesej«6>'ya«tte»WM>», 195, 201 

— iacftaiMOT, 198 

— Bolusii, 201 

— sieWaiMW, 198 

— tigrinum, 201 
Miiora verna, 221 
Michaelmas Daisies, 247 
Mignonette, 269 

— for cutting, 271 

— scent of, 264 
Miller, 34, 278 

Mimicry in plants, 114, 119, 120 
Mimulus Lewisii, 290 
Miscanthus, 219, 228 

— japonicus, fol. var., 230 

— saccharifer, 224 
MoHnia coerulea, fol. var., 230 
Moltkea petraea, 96 
Montbretia rosea, 286 
Moorhens, 158 

Moraea bicolor, 254 

— Huttonii, 254 

— iridioides, 254 
Mulleins, 131, 187, 273 
Miiller, Dr., 218 
Munichoven, Everard, 20 
Mutisia Clematis, 144 
Myosotis palustris, 269 

— versicolor, 65 
Myrica Gale, 172 
Myrtle, Bog, 172 
Myrtus tarentina, 145 

Naming of plants, 244 
Nandina domestica, 297 
Narcissus, acclimatisation of New 
Zealand bulbs, 4 

— poeticus, 5 

New River, 157 
Night-scented Stock, 259 
Norfolk Meres, 158 
Nymphaea, 166 

— Leydekeri, 166 

— Marliacea group, 166 

— — albida, 166 
Nymphoides peltatum, 161 

Olearia insignis, 145 

— stellulata, 131 
Onagraceae, 56 
Onobrychis, 220 
Onoclea sensibilis, 170 
Ononis fruticosa, 217 

Opuntia, 182, 183, 185, 186, 187, 
189, 194 

— camanchica, 189 

— cantabrigiensis, 189 

— cylindrica, 196 

— glauca, or rofewsto, 189 

— subulata, 183, 184 

— Tuna, 185 
Orange-trees, 275 
Orchids, Marsh, 178 
Orchis latifolia, 178 
Oreocome Candollei, 119 
Oriental Poppies, 125 
Orontium aquaticum, 174 
Oryzopsis miliacea, 225 
OsOTMK(?a, Canadian, 170 

— - regalis, 170 
Othonnopis cheirifolia, 254 
Oxypetalum coeruleum, 260 

Paeonia albiflora, or Whitleyi, 120 

— ZMfe«, 3, 124 

— officinalis, 124 

— Riverslea, 124 
• — • Single, 120 

— Veitchii, 152 

— Water Lily, 120 
Palms, hardy, 275 
Pampas Grass, 219, 228 
Panicum clandestinum, 22s 

— maximum, 224 

— virgatum, 225 
Pansy, aestivation of, 58 
Papaver aculeatum, or horridum, or 

gariepinum, 127. 5ee also Poppy 

— alpinum, 129 

— — var. iacmia/M»», 130 


My Garden in Summer 

Papaver arenavium, 127 

— Carington-Lee, 125 

— cauoasicum, 127 

— glaucum, 128 

— Heldreichii, 126 

— Jenny Mawson, 125 

— Lady Roscoe, 125 

— Mrs. Perry, 125 

— nudicaule, 129 

— orientate Silberblick, 122 

— pavonium, 127 

— pilosum, 125, 126 

— Queen Alexandra, 125 

— rupifragum, 125, 126 

— Salmon Queen, 125 

— sinense, 126 

— somniferum, 125, 126 

— umbrosum, 120 
Parkinson, quoted, 20 
Passiflora coerulea, Constance, 

Elliott, 144 
Paul, Mr. George, 285 
Peacock Poppies, 127 
Pelargonium, 107 et seq., 252, 253 

— apiifolium, 109 

— ausPrale, 109 

— differentiation from Geranium, 

— Endlicherianum, 107 

— Henry Jacoby, 258 

— inodorum, 109 

— King of Denmark, 253 

— origin of name, 94 

— Paul Crampel, 253, 256 

— saniculaefolium, no 

— triste, 109 
Pennisetum maorourum, 226 
Penny Royal, 178 
Pentstemons, 257, 258 
Pepper Tree, 43, 258 
Pereskia, 183 
Periwinkle, 56 

Perry, Amos., 126, 177, 241, 244, 

Petasites japonica gigantea, 153 

— palmata, 168 
Pheasant's tail grass, 235 
Philadelphus coronanus, scent of, 

Phleum pratense, 230 
Phlox, 131, 264 

— Coquelicot. 299 

Phlox, Dr. Charcot, 300 

— Fiancee, 300 

— General van Heutsz, 299 

— Mahdi, 300 

— Mrs. Jenkins, 300 

— paniculaia, 300 

— treatment of, 244 
Phormium tenax, 43, 159, 281 
Phyllocacti, 193 
Phyllody, 90 
Phyllotaxy, 55, 59, 183 
Phyteuma campanuloides, 273 
Pillar, the brick, 140 
Pincke-needle, 94 
Pinguicula grandiflora, 178 
Pinwill, Captain, 106, 233 
Piper nigrum, 43 

Plum, purple, 169 
Plumbago capensis, 144, 262 
Poa alpina, 202 

— — vivipara, 229 
Polemoniaceae, 56 
Polyanthus, 31 

— Primroses, 31 
Polygonatum, 149 
Polygonum baldschuanicum, 217 
Pond, the, 157 

Pools, in rock garden, 173 
Poppies, 125-130. See Papaver 

— Celandine, 137 

— hybrid, 125, 126 

— Oriental, 125 

— Peacock, 127 

— Shirley, 128, 263 

— Welsh, 140 
Potentilla alba, 281 

— anserina, 282 

— davurica, 281 

— Friedrichsehnii, 280 

— fruficosa, 281 

— Gibson's Scarlet, 282 

— Hippiana, 282 

— Hopwoodiana, 282 

— La Vesuve, 282 

— McNabiana, 282 

— nepalensis, 281 

— Tonguei, 282 

— Tormentilla, 62 
Pots for garden, 195 
Prickles of Roses, 51-53 
Prickly Pear, 181 
Primrose, aestivation in, 57 



Primrose, Polyanthus, 31 
Primulas, 178 

— Atiricula, 31 

— Bulky ana, 132 

— malacoides, 262 

— minima, 221, 229 

— Poissonii, 178 

— rosea, 178 

Privet, 284. See Ligustrum 
Purple-leaved plants, 130 

— Plum, 169 
Pyrethrum roseum, 237 

— Solfaterre, 237 

— Tchihatchewii, 238 

Quaking Grass, 133, 229 

Ragwort, Barbary, 254 
Ranunculaceae and Berberidaceae, 

Ranunculus pyrenaeus, 203 

— Thora and antidote, 200 
Redoute's Les Roses, 87, 88 
Reeds, 166 

— Giant, 227, 228 

— Madagascar, 169 
Rhipsalis, 198 
Rhododendron, 18, 47 

— fastuosum, fl. pi., 19 

— ponticum, 19 

— Sappho, 19 
Rhodostachys, 194 

— andina, 192 

— liitoralis, 192 

— pitcairniaefolia, 192 
Ribes, 124 

Rice, Wild, 167 

Richardia africana, 168 

Robb, Mrs., 276 

Robinia pseudacacia aurea, 124 

Robinson, Mr., 97, 269 

Rocket, Double White, 122 

Romneya, 180 

— Coulteri, 205, 206 

— trichocalyx, 205 
Roses, 46 et seq. 

— Adelaide d'Orleans, 78, 277 

— Alberti, 65 

— — var. ochroleuca, 65 

— alpina, 52, 71 

— — pendulina, 52 

— — pyrenaica, 72 

Roses, altaica, 63, 64, 75 

— anemonaeflora, 82 

— Anna Maria de Montravel, 49 

— Ariel, 79 

— Ash-leaved, 83 

— Austrian Brier, or Rosafoetida, 
67, 68, 69, 70 

— Banksia, 146 

— Beggeriana, 83 

— Bengal, 86 

— Blanche Double de Courbet, 74 

— blanda, 83 

— Blush Rambler, 77 

— Boursault, 52 

— bracteata, 79 

— Bramble, 81 

— Brier, 49 

— Brunonii, 74 

— Burnet, or spinosissima, 51, 
63. 64, 65, 66 

— Cabbage, Double Yellow, 70 

— Canarien Vogel, 48 

— canina, 53 

— — var. Andersonii, 73 

— Carmine Pillar, 75, 84 

— Caroline Testout, 48 

— China, or chinensis, 86 
— ■ — grandiflora, 88 

— — minima, 89 

— — single, 48 

— — viridiflora, 90 

— Copper Austrian, 75 

— Cramoisie Sup6rieure, 49 

— Crimson Rambler, 49, 76 

— Dog, 51, 53, 55, 57 
— ■ Dorothy Perkins, 76 

— Dupontii, 83 

— dwarf, 49, 73 

— Ecae, 66 

— Fairy, 79, 86, 89 

— Fedtschenkoana, 51, 75 

— F^icit^ Perp^tue, 77, 78 

— foetida, 67, 68, 69, 70 

— foliosa, 83 

— Frau Karl Druschki, 47 

— fraxinifolia, 83, 90 

— gallica, 76, 83 

— — pumila, 73 

— green, 86, 90 

— gymnocarpa, 91 

— H.P., climbing, 74 

— Harrisonii, 70 


My Garden in Summer 

Roses, Hiawatha, 76 

— hibernicd, 75 

— hips of, 51, 62, 71, 82, 84 

— hisptda, 63, 64 

— Hugonis, 67 

— humilis, 75 

— indica, 86, 87 

— — fragrans, 88 

— Irish Beauty, 76 

— Irish Glory, 76 

— Irish Singles, 48, 76 

— Jersey Beauty, 76 

— Joseph Billiard, 80 

— La France, 47, 49 

— La Mesch, 48 

— Lady Curzon, 73 

— Lady Gay, 76 

— Lady Penzance Sweet Brier, 

— laevigata Anemone, 85 

— Liberty, 49 

— lucida, 75 

— Lyons, 48 

— macrophylla, 71 

— Maharajah, 75 

— Malyi, 71 

— microphylla, 84 

— Mignonette, 49 

— Miss Jekyll's arvensis, 74 

— Mme. Abel Chatenay, 49 
— ■ Mme. Georges Bruant, 74 

— Mme. Levavasseur, 49 

— Mme. Ravary, 48 

— Monthly, 86 

— moschata, 83 

— — nasturana, 79 

— — nepalensis, 74, 82 

— Moyesii, 71 

— Mrs. Cutbush, 49 

— multiflora, 80 

— Musk, or R. Brunonii, 74, 82 

— myriacantha, 83 

— nitida, 51, 75 

— nivea, 83 

— nutkana, S3 

— Paul's Single White, 74 

— pergola for, 77 

— Perle d'Or, 48 

— Pharisaer, 49 

— pillar, 79 

— Pissartii, 78 

— prickles of, 51-53 

Roses, Prince de Bulgarie, 49 

— Ramblers, 76, 80 

— Rayon d'Or, 47, 48 

— reversa, 51 

— Richmond, 49 

— rubrifolia, 72, 75 

— rugosa, 74, 75, 83, 84 

— scabrata, 73 

— scent of, 264 

— Scotch, 75 

— Scotch Briers, 64 

— sempervirens, 77 

— sepals of, 38, 53 
. — Seraphinii, 82 

— sericea, 51, 62, 75 

— — var. denudafa, 52 

— — var. pteracantHa, 52, 63 

— Simplicity, 79 

— single, 49, 62-91 

— Soulieana, 81 

— spinosissima, or Burnet, 72, ! 

— standard, 47 

— Sulphurea, 48 

— Sweet brier, 68 

— Tea-scented, 86, 88 

— — — single, 48 

— Trier, 79 

— Watsoniana, 91 

— Webbiana, 83 

— Wichttriana, 73, 74, 76, 83 

— Willow-leaved, 86 

— Woodsii, 83 

— xanthina, 66, 75 
Rostrum Ciconiae, 94 

— gruis, 94 
Rouy, 112 
Royal Fern, 170 
Rubber plant, 44 
Rubus bambusarum, 148 

— cissoides pauperatus, 147 

— parvus, 147 

Rudbeckia nitida. Kerbstone, 241 
Rushes, 219 

— Flowering, 160 

— Scented, 174 

Sagitiaria, 165 

— gracilis, r66 

— japonica, 165 

— sagittifolia, 165 

— variaeformis, 165 
St. Bruno's Lily, 220 



St. John's Wort, 124. See Hy- 
Salvia argentea, 125 

— Grahamii, 123, 293 

— patens, 254, 258 
-r- pratensis, 220 

— splendens, Pride of Zurich, 256 
Samphire, Marsh, 114 
Saponaria officinalis, 294 
Sawflies, 149 

Saxifraga (Megasea) cordifoUa, 133 
Scarlet Runners, 76 
Scent of Flowers, 264 
Schinus MoUe, 43, 258 
Schoeuus nigricans, 233 
Scilla, 76 

— autumnalis, 302 

— peruviana, 20 
Scirpus Holoschoenus, 233 

— lacustris, 158 

— maritimus, 168 
Scopoli, 34 

Scots Pines, 138 
Sea Hollies, 278 
Sedges, 160, 176, 219, 231 
Sedum dendroideum, 193 
Selinum tenuifolium, 119 
Sempervivum, 195, 196 

— arachnoideum, 250 

— arboreum, 198 

— holochrysum, 197 
Senecio, 200 

— Clivorum, 246 

— compactus, 254 

— Doronicum, 122 

— Gyeyi, 254 

— japonicus, 170 
Senna-producing Cassias, 38 
Sesleria coerulea, 234 

— nivea, 234 
Shamrock, four-leaved, 44 
Shield-ferns, 290 
Shirley poppies, 128, 263 
Shrubs, flowering, in August, 296 
Sidalcea Candida, 299 

— Listeri, 299 
Silene finibriata, 130 

— inflata, 295 

— maritima, 295 

— virginica, 291 
Silver-leaved plants, 124 
Silver maple, 169 

Sloe, prickles of, 53 

Smith of Worcester, 107 

Solanum jasminoides, 145, 296 

Solly, Mrs., 92 

Solomon's Seals, 149 

Sorbaria arborea, for cutting, 268 

Sow-thistle, Blue, 289 

Sparmannia africana, 258 

Spartium junceum, 296 

Spearwort, 173 

Sphaeralcea canescens, 295 

— coccinea, 295 

— Munroana, 295 
Spiraea Aitchisonii, 268 

— Aruncus, 264 

— digitata, or lobata, 176 

— for cutting, 268 

— hybrids, 175 

— japonica, 175 

— laevigata, 120 

— Lindleyana, 268 

— opulifolia var. aurea, 119 

— palmata, 175 

— — var. purpurea, 176 

— Peach Blossom, 175 

— Queen Alexandra, 175 

— ramschatica, or gigantea, 175 

— venusta, 175, 176 
Sprenger, Herr, 243 

Spring, merging with Summer, i 
Stinking Johnny Moons, 237 
Stipa gigantea, 224 

— pennata, 224 

— seed-sowing apparatus of, in 
Stock, Night-scented, 259. See 


— scent of, 264 
Stork' s-bill, 94, 107 
Straiiotes aloides, 161 
Streptosolen Jamesonii, 255 
Stylophorum, 138 

— diphyllum, 135 

— lasiocarpum, 137 
Succulents, 180-201 

— grouping of, 193-196 
Summer, merging with Spring, i 
Sundermann, Herr, 112, 122 
Sutherlandiafrutescens, 294 
Sweet Peas, 263, 264, 269 

— the first, 4 

— Lady Grizel Hamilton, 270 

— Masterpiece, 270 


My Garden in Summer 

Sweet Peas, Moonstone, 271 
— Seashell, 271 

— to gather, 270 

— Tortoiseshell, 271 

Sweet's Geraniaceae, 94, 97, 99, 105, 

Symphytum, 136 

Tabernaemontanus, 68 

Telekia speciosissima, at cordatuitt, 

Thalictrum aquilegifolium, 227 
Thistles, Globe, 249 
Thornless Thorn, 217 
Tom Tiddler's Ground, 18, 124 
Tournefort, 93 

Tournefortia heliotropioides, 296 
Trachycmpus excelsus, 38, 275 
Tricuspidaria dependens, 290 

— lanceolata, 290 
Trifylium repens, 44 
Trollius sinensis, 204 
Tweedia coerula, 261 
Typha minima, 170 

Uniola latifolia, 226 

Van Tubergen, Messrs., 30 
Vase of foliage, 169 
Veratrum album, 293 
Verbascum Chaixii, 280 

— hybrid, 187 

— phoeniceum, 130 

— pyramidalis, 273 

— vemale, 280 
Verbena venosa, 286 
Veronica parviflora, 140 
Viburnum tomentosum plicatum, 148 
Villarsia nymphaeoides, 161 

Viola calcarata, 203, 221 

— canadensis, 290, 291 

— scabriuscula, 135 

— striata, 291 

Violets, American Yellow, 135 

— scent of, 264 
Vittadenia trilobata, 247 

Wahlenbergia, 210, 215 

— gracilis, or vincaeflora, 216 

— saxicola, or albomarginata, 215 
Walking Fern, 291 
Wallflower, scent of, 264 

Water beds, i58, 169 

Water LiUes, James Brydon, 166, 

See Nymphaea. 
Water Soldier, 161 
Water voles, 159 
Welsh Poppy, 76, 140 
Wilks, Rev. W., 128 
Willmott, Miss, 52, 79, 82, 86, 127 
Willow-herbs, 277 
Wilson, E. H., 71 
Winter Sweet, 272 
Wistaria brachybotrys, 12 

— chinensis, 10-13 

— multijuga, 5-7, 9, 12, i3, 77 

Yellow Martagon, 132 
Yews, 15, 17, 19 
Yuccas, 194, 254 

— filamentosa, 299 

— — var. flaccida, 298 

Zizania aquatica, or latifolia, 168 

— canadensis, 167 
Zizaniopsis Miliacea, 168 
Zygadenus elegans, 294 


Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &■ Ca 
at Paul's Work, Edinburgh